Who were the older boys who taught me?
My father would know, but he died some
years ago. His girlfriend ordered white doves,
let them loose in her backyard, with everyone
watching. Her son, who makes a living as El Vez,
the Mexican Elvis Presley impersonator, served
the liquor to guests, the liquor that killed my father.
My father tried not to fall down and hit his skull.
He was a smart man, but seemed to selectively
not understand how vodka, over time--and liters--
can poison you. I want to be at that same skipping
stone shore today, I want to grasp the flattest
roundest gray stones, flick my wrist
just so, and send the things flying,
then bouncing, again and again and again,
until they grow tired, lose control,
and sink under the water forever.