in a stocking cap
I slept on her lap
as we waited in a car garage
in Burlington to pass the evening
breathing Lake Champlain
February rain
her chapstick left a print
that wouldn't fog on the windowpane
built of brick and built of stone
broken car and broken home
I hung my head outside the pharmacy
wishing I could be alone
cities grow and cities fall
into a hundred strip malls
may the mountains keep us
sheltered from the ugliness of it all
cuticles stained red
Samuel, rest your head
you were kinder than the rest who
came here before you did
twenty implements of change
an anglicized name
a generation born with no shame
a forest of fast food chains
a winter of driving rain
an opinion to proclaim
a senator to blame
a population to enflame
a bridge over Lake Champlain
four centuries of man
in a garbage can
I realize now that I, too
am a selfish man
but I can't love like I used to
and I can't give like I used to
I couldn't pull apart the heart I had
for everyone and give it to you