by David Stankiewicz

The end of August in New England.
Evenings begin to erode.
Darkness collides with the rumbling tides,
Rumors of tropical storms.
Why should these same feelings surprise you?
Your father is still setting out.
Beneath thin wind in dry leaves
Crickets inherit the earth.

—on the anniversary of my father’s death

by David Stankiewicz

my mom just called to
tell me the old man
up the street who
menaced my childhood
with his temper and
sinister peculiarities (like
the time he dug a grave
in the middle of the night
on his 1/8^thof an acre corner lot
for the mangy shepherd
who lunged snarling
against her chain
every single time
you walked by) died
in the ramshackle
haunted-house house
his kids refused to visit
and which the fire
department reported
was so glutted with stuff—
a lifetime’s detritus—
they could barely reach
the tiny basement cell
where Mr.K was
living next to a space heater
and where presumably
he burned alone
as he had lived
hell enough
for any man

by David Stankiewicz

Sitting outside, a lovely July evening, watching
Eurydice in the park.

I am alone among the others—
couples, groups of friends
eating, drinking their wine,
distracted or absorbed in
the ancient beautiful tragedy.

Gossamer wings in sunlight
streaming through the oaks.

Thoughts of you.

Nearby, the trauma helicopter
coming into Maine Med
obliterates for a time
the voices of the players
in the underworld.

The actress playing Eurydice looks like you.

And I imagine us together
walking in the park.
There is music
coming from somewhere,
sun going down.

The actress playing you
takes the hand of
the actor playing me.

When he pulls you close
and looks into your eyes—
as I have longed and longed to do—
he remembers he is going to die.

by Ron Kolm

In ’86 I got totally addicted
To the New York Mets.
I went to many
Of their home games,
And watched a bunch on TV,
But mainly
I listened to play-by-play
On the radio.
I had a small red transistor,
Shaped like a piece
Of hard candy
Wrapped in cellophane.
The volume
Was controlled
By pretending to unwrap
One side—
The other side
Chose the station
You wanted to listen to.
I walked around the city
Holding it close to my ear
So I could clearly
Hear the games.
I went rowing
In Central Park
And stopped the boat
In the center of the lake
Because I was able
To get a game there
Without interference.
I almost got hit by a truck
As I crossed a street
Engrossed in a game.
But it was all worth it—
They won the World Series
That year!
I’ve never quite felt
The same way
About them since
Though I continue to enjoy
Unwrapping and sucking
On hard candy.