We need a Celine/Miller/Kerouac/Bukowski/type for this time and place. I've chosen myself for the job. What did the man say? No guts no glory? So writing poems from the gut will do. And my star is rising...

Monday, February 07, 2005

a suicide

a high school student
hanged himself from
a tree just beyond my
folks' backyard a
few years ago
I heard a few different
stories about school
problems and in trouble
and so on
he was from the same
high school I had
started out from
a non-coed
Catholic stuffy
anachronistic
and slightly
evil sort of
affair
most of the teachers
and students
believed their
own press
but that tree
just stands there
and I stare at it
when I walk past
some good souls
planted a little group
of flowers up the path
a bit and there is
a little understated
stone plaque they had
done in front that says
'To Our Friend,'
and the boy's
name

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