
nods. Wear a Cath’lic sweatshirt/
in Salt Lake’s airport.
The more I hear of/
other guys, the more glad I/
am of who I am.
Let art always be, /
even when there’s no stage nor /
vaunted gallery.
Let art, poetry,/
and song always be,/
even/
when there’s no stage,/
nor print,
nor gallery.
The waiting room and/
His Priesthood are the same. It’s/
me who’s fin’lly changed.
Of course she misses/
me. I’m the only guy who’ll/
treat her decently.
I thought we were past/
being just Facebook friends. She/
has my phone number.
Though she wore scarlet, /
she looked happy. I hope she/
learned and changed her path.
Who knows when your poem/
about sharing rhubarb crisp/
may change someone’s life.
This poem and rhubarb crisp has a history: a previous set of poems written.