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ernove his socks blacker than an
Arabian horse neck and saw the
weeping Jesus tattoo smiled and cried
I do not deserve your piteous tears Dear
Lord but take me home and end my
general discomfort and let sonny-boy
know by sign or miraculous intercession
that he was although a stranger indeed -
be-loved of me
After all of this I want to say WAIT
DO NOT DIE ON ME, but do not as I
know by now, though deprived of
paternal guidance and affection these
36+ years, until this moment that is,
that strange events such even as the
visitation of ghosts do not, cannot
occur without there being (though
dog-years may pass without genuine
clarity concerning same) some
MEANING attached ...
And thus it was epiphanic and clear
to me, pretend-reader of great novels,
terminally-unemployable, borderline
cruel rejector of too-many-to-count
advances of Crazy Kelly, that we had,
my dead father and I, all along shared
so giant (Gibraltar-like, really) a
THING in common, the THING being
that which was the explanation for
every tear ever shed, every mirror
ever shattered with closed fist by
your 's truly -
I got Kelly to lend me a hundred dol­
lars and promise to water my cactus
plant once every three weeks in
exchange for letting her call 911 to
report the death of the strange man
on my couch in order to give her
something to talk about for the next
two months ("my gawd it was awful
right in front of me he went just like
that- SNAPP!"), and also, though I
hate to admit it, one long, sad night of
forced (on my part, of course)
lovemaking during which I was
afraid to put my hand on the quiver­
ing vision of weeping Jesus for fear I
might (once again) offend and hurt
him
I load my car with books to make me
seem serious & learned & in general
a threat to no-one on Earth to any cop
who might mistake my porcu.pine
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