Dear chum,
Who brings bullies
Around like a musk flower
Attracts does,
You were the saint
Of our ass-kicked
Sunday school class.
There you recline,
Halo of inflammatories,
Butterfly knives,
Brass knuckles,
Crucified on the tetherball
Pole. You had gray
Hair and smelled
Like a cow, but your
Five-finger was
Out of this world.
I don’t know where
You are now.
Still taking punches,
I would guess,
In the dawn traffic
Somewhere, hands
Clasped as if in prayer?
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