the earliest thing I remember
was The Monster at the End of This Book
narrated by Grover, and how Little Golden Books
were just enough for a single sitting
you had your 70s hair that went long past your glasses
the St. that I saw, came alive in your voice
from sheer love, no acting fillers
and the ending would weird me out a little
because it was absurd

the meaning of my life is so
that I saw this book in the store
just a year or 15 ago, and bought the dollar
gold still framing the coward spine
afraid to open, making what mystery stood
last until I read the copyright and the colors
drew me in until I interacted as protagonist
with my simple speech and drifting attention

seeing our house all dogged up in the black street
and the trees that made raking messes
never asking myself what if we didn't do anything
walking to the drug store, and the catalog showroom
that closed up soon, the gas station were I pecked
my pockets for a gallon, and "did" a few yards in acres
Pepper asking of the birds and running into them
so they'd tree for safety, kicking down more yard cover
cycling my grandmother in like a clock born to wind up
and we'd fill the green wheelbarrow with rust and
dead bodies, the short distance which wore through,
right next to the trail that had come with the house
leading to the backyard gate, held with carbon wire
so that I never did want to finish the book