To Santa Claus and Little Sisters

Once, on yellow paper, and green lines,
he wrote a poem, and called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
and that was what it was all about,
and the teacher gave him an "A"
and a gold star,
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door,
and read it to all his aunts.

That was the year his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair,
and Father Tracey took them to the zoo
and let them sing on the bus,
and his mother and father kissed a lot,
and the girl around the corner sent him a
Christmas card signed with a row of kisses,
and his father always tucked him in at night,
and he was always there to do it.

Once, on white paper, and blue lines
he wrote a poem,
and he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season,
and that's what it was about
and the teacher gave him an "A,"
and told him to write more clearly,
and his mother never hung it in the kitchen door
because the door had just been painted.

That was the year that his sister got glasses
with black frames and thick lenses,
and the kids told him why his mother and father
kissed a lot,
and that Father Tracey smoked cigars,
and left the butts on the pews,
and the girl around the corner laughed when
he went to see Santa Claus at Woolworth's,
and his father stopped tucking him in to bed at night,
and got mad when he cried for him to.

Once, on paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem,
and called it "Question Marked Innocence"
because that was the name of his grief,
and that's what it was all about,
and the Professor gave him an "A,"
and a strange and steady look,
and his mother never hung it in the kitchen door
because he never let her see it.

That was the year he found his sister,
necking in the back room,
and his parents never kissed or even smiled,
and he forgot the end of the Apostle's Creed,
and Father Tracey died,
and the girl around the corner wore too much make-up,
and made him cough when he kissed her,
but he kissed her anyway

Once, at 3AM he tucked himself in bed,
his father snoring loudly
he tried another poem,
on the back of a pack of matches
and called it absolutely nothing,
because that's what it was all about,
and he gave himself an "A,"
and a slash on each damp wrist
and hung it on the bathroom door
because he couldn't reach the kitchen.

-Anonymous