1966

i stiff on a tie and a blazer while my mom station

wagons us down fairmount and woodland right

turn third driveway grey mailbox 227 meadow lane.

and I slink from the front seat and cast off 

across a parade of bluestones until maggie

gooseman’s black door arrives like a shiny casket.

I wait. And see. And I have to wait. Umm. Hi. I

Wanted to apologize for throwing a boot at your daughter.

On the bus. It’s orange. Not the boot. The thing with wheels.

Coming home from school yesterday. And the bloody lip part, too. And. 

I hope she smiles soon, but right then I’m already

back home riding my lime sting ray and building a jump

out of plywood scraps and a metal milk crate when

when she says oh, You want Mrs. Gooseman.

Wait three shakes: I’m just the cleaning lady.