Cover Letter

I've come to accept the honorarium

of "poem-writer in residence".

when I leave the house the honorarium

will not travel with me.

The early years

I’m home-schooled in the tactics of neighborhood,

coached by-the-book in the mastery of nabbing

the high-fly ball at the close of its arc, disciplined

at the procedural altar, the chiming solemnity of the benediction,

the dousing of Priest's nicotine-stained thumbs hovering

at the mouth of the chalice drunk first of wine then washed of water,

practiced to a fault in circumventing the Saturday

morning confessionals, the weekly recounting of venial sins

without confessing to Priest my regret that each hadn't lingered longer.

my official papers are in order for the most part.

an examination of my formal education will at the least

find me in attendance.