I don’t blame you—
I shouldn’t
have asked for so much
that the only way to answer
was to be gone
when I woke up to go to school
where Robby Reid with the cold sores
and Playboys saved dirt clods
to throw at dragonflies. who would
follow me home
on his Firestone skateboard
and force our Oatmeal Cream Pies
through the faultlines in his lips
through his twisted teeth
down his tall throat
as he said it’s time
to get under the sheets for special inside baseball—
but where were you?