I
there was a short walkway to the duplex
around which japanese beetles swarmed
my mother was a sunshine of memory yellow at
the back of my neck
she illuminated the pavement that soon
would cease to be my world
II
on Belmont ave alone with a baseball bat
I swung and took the life of a swarm of firefly
I have long ago forgotten their names
I have since lived in regret and supplication
their death lights remind me of the faces of dead cats
our neighbors killed.
III
In my dreams I am tormented by two places
a small infinitely growing patch of grass at
the end of a long suburban street
a gray hulking jug shaped water tower
watching from a distance.
IV
30 years ago I leapt from the top of the
tallest slide in the world
in my memory they have left it standing
after all these years.
