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Description
I. breath

Who are you?
A boy, two,
eyes of blue,
graced with a glamour that woos all that see you.

Bleach-blonde hair,
Ever fair.
Each day you wear
a smile so wide that there's some to be shared.

(Mother loved you. She died for you.)

Lakes all dry,
Tired lungs cry
As young parents sigh.
Depression and dust are all that are nigh.

Where's your daddy?
Where's your mommy?
Where's your family?
Big blue eyes watch, but must wait to see.

(You'll be all right. Eventually.)

II. the first sister

Your father gave you your eyes.
Your mother gave you your hair.

Your father gave you your nose.
Your mother gave you your chin.

Your father gave you your valor.
Your mother gave you your wonder.

Your father gave you your strength.
Your mother gave you your questions.

Your father gave you your temper.
Your mother gave you your fear.

Your father took your trust.
Your mother took your chances.

Your father gave you his sin.
Your mother gave you her life.

I gave you this room.
I gave you this bed.
I gave you this food.
I gave you what I could

and passed you along.

III. take

The uniform hurts like the switch that haunted your back.
The lines are there, but faded, invisible under thick cloth.
Just the way you like it.

You don't talk about the war to anyone, not even Helen.
The pack and bottle are your constant companions.
Do you love them?

You were passed from house to house, but never to a home.
The military provides for you now, more loving than sisters could be.
What's it like to be alone?

She asked you about camp and your friends and army life.
You lit a cigarette and changed the subject with your eyes.
What's it like to hate?

She asked you if you loved her or you ever missed her.
She asked you to write please and that she would write too.
Did you say yes?

She had to go back to dresses and work and farms and hardship.
You went back to numbers and numbness and namelessness.
Just the way you like it.

IV. ebb and flow

Sharon is tall and sprite-like.
She is your first.
        She marries at sixteen to a robber and a crook.

        You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Donna is sweet and sharp as a tack.
She is your second.
        She feels defenseless and tired, picking up slack.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Diane is mousey and slim.
She is your third.
        She is unhealthy and brittle and so, so alone.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Sandy is apathetic, but finds joy when in love.
She is your fourth.
        She is plain and unhappy, and struggles to keep afloat.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Sheila is young and angry.
She is your sixth.
        She grows to be bitter and cruel, shiftless and shallow.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.

And what of the fifth?
The blue-eyed boy,
Who kills with a smile,
Who shares your name?

Donnie is brilliant and mischievious.
He is your fifth.
He feels alone, and is alone
starts work at thirteen
leaves home at sixteen
fends for himself from birth

You'd have done something, but you had to work.

He is a boy.
He is the boy.
Boys can handle themselves.
You did, didn't you?
How well did that turn out?
How much did that hurt?

Pain flows, from one poor father to the next.

V. trace of you

"Look at him," my mother whispered to me.
"Look at him. He is the closest you will ever get to seeing your Pappy."
I stared at the man with big blue eyes, seated at the table,
cracking crab shells open with his bare, worn hands.

The reunion is the first and last time I will see him.
Though I am only ten, I try hard to memorize his face.
Crisp white hair, strong cheekbones, rounded features,
and big blue eyes that survey all with a hint of malice.

Description
I. breath

Who are you?
A boy, two,
eyes of blue,
graced with a glamour that woos all that see you.

Bleach-blonde hair,
Ever fair.
Each day you wear
a smile so wide that there's some to be shared.

(Mother loved you. She died for you.)

Lakes all dry,
Tired lungs cry
As young parents sigh.
Depression and dust are all that are nigh.

Where's your daddy?
Where's your mommy?
Where's your family?
Big blue eyes watch, but must wait to see.

(You'll be all right. Eventually.)

II. the first sister

Your father gave you your eyes.
Your mother gave you your hair.

Your father gave you your nose.
Your mother gave you your chin.

Your father gave you your valor.
Your mother gave you your wonder.

Your father gave you your strength.
Your mother gave you your questions.

Your father gave you your temper.
Your mother gave you your fear.

Your father took your trust.
Your mother took your chances.

Your father gave you his sin.
Your mother gave you her life.

I gave you this room.
I gave you this bed.
I gave you this food.
I gave you what I could

and passed you along.

III. take

The uniform hurts like the switch that haunted your back.
The lines are there, but faded, invisible under thick cloth.
Just the way you like it.

You don't talk about the war to anyone, not even Helen.
The pack and bottle are your constant companions.
Do you love them?

You were passed from house to house, but never to a home.
The military provides for you now, more loving than sisters could be.
What's it like to be alone?

She asked you about camp and your friends and army life.
You lit a cigarette and changed the subject with your eyes.
What's it like to hate?

She asked you if you loved her or you ever missed her.
She asked you to write please and that she would write too.
Did you say yes?

She had to go back to dresses and work and farms and hardship.
You went back to numbers and numbness and namelessness.
Just the way you like it.

IV. ebb and flow

Sharon is tall and sprite-like.
She is your first.
        She marries at sixteen to a robber and a crook.

        You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Donna is sweet and sharp as a tack.
She is your second.
        She feels defenseless and tired, picking up slack.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Diane is mousey and slim.
She is your third.
        She is unhealthy and brittle and so, so alone.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Sandy is apathetic, but finds joy when in love.
She is your fourth.
        She is plain and unhappy, and struggles to keep afloat.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.
Sheila is young and angry.
She is your sixth.
        She grows to be bitter and cruel, shiftless and shallow.

You'd have done something, but you had to work.

And what of the fifth?
The blue-eyed boy,
Who kills with a smile,
Who shares your name?

Donnie is brilliant and mischievious.
He is your fifth.
He feels alone, and is alone
starts work at thirteen
leaves home at sixteen
fends for himself from birth

You'd have done something, but you had to work.

He is a boy.
He is the boy.
Boys can handle themselves.
You did, didn't you?
How well did that turn out?
How much did that hurt?

Pain flows, from one poor father to the next.

V. trace of you

"Look at him," my mother whispered to me.
"Look at him. He is the closest you will ever get to seeing your Pappy."
I stared at the man with big blue eyes, seated at the table,
cracking crab shells open with his bare, worn hands.

The reunion is the first and last time I will see him.
Though I am only ten, I try hard to memorize his face.
Crisp white hair, strong cheekbones, rounded features,
and big blue eyes that survey all with a hint of malice.