beyond that morning

he slid
along the cracks of the sidewalk kicking
at the tufts of earth and plant that rose
up in-between

that morning his mother broke
his bat across her knee

he shined
his soles on the soft round stones imbedded
in the rough all around

only minutes later she fired
a mouthful of wine into his eyes

he spit
into the street
lept the curb and danced
through the light of the traffic

climbing from the floor she hurled
handfuls of potting soil and words

he moved
into the next block and wavered
over signs with his eyes drawing
a large white wall

on her wet knees she gave
chase and odor and commands

he stood
still for the streetlights waiting
to snap on into the night

and at last she cursed
him out beyond the slamming door

he cried
as the shadows formed
and his image swelled
to the height of the highest sliver of the sky

the ritual
god is a little man

Copyright © 1996
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