a child that is the source of blood
we'd been out,
a van pulls up
and out comes normal
everyday people
a woman sits down
she catches her breath
lights a cigarette
artillery smoke fills
the reflection
of her thin sunglasses
my friend didn't get
the job he wanted
but it became a million poems
I wish I could take
those hardwritten poems
and fuck all you sons of whores
with 'em
I gave him my Heinekens
and some of those
fat blueberries from Wegmans
they're as big as grapes
he says
I saw an ad that made
me both horny and patriotic
anything but completing
my parent's Medicare
applications
when I got word from my
mother that our relatives
abroad, a maternal uncle,
his wife, and two young
adult sons, successfully passed
their visa interview
a dull dread fell over me
