Beginners

Truth went through a leaky funnel starting in late 1963

that blade-lit afternoon Gary Orrin laughed at Kennedy’s murder

bleeding through the static of P.S. 41’s cheap PA.

There’s Greenwich Village—a drowsy dandelion—I called it once—and there are the heartsick monitors of afternoons.

My mother is late to pick me up again. She’s almost better, but will neve…