I'm going to close the reading with a poem from my new book.
And well, I'm reading all these sort of adolescent like poems
or adolescent poetry.
I don't know what it's called but it's
what I have to offer to Tucson.
[LAUGHTER]
I really do write some serious stuff at times.
"Learning My Lesson."
"When I was five I found beauty, a girl on a box of soap
while foldng in the alley with my brother who
was all gum and better looks.
He snatched the box, gazed and looked back
at me, kid with a spiky hair and teeth like broken down fence.
Said he knew her house and took me down her alley
to the street Mother said never to cross.
Over there he pointed, that house.
I worried my brow into lines.
Stacked boards, oily field of truck parts, a warehouse
slamming shut with machinery.
No, sir, I said being no one's fool
and ran away to play, only to return, look both ways
and cross the street.
I look back, a river of glass and bottle caps
gleamed on the asphalt. The parked car seemed far.
Even Rick who was jumping up in delight, singing I
was a dead boy on the floor when mama found out.
You're stupid too, I said, turned
and walked until I was lost and talking to a dog.
How did I get back?
How did any of us get back when we search for--
when we search for beauty?
I don't know except days later our neighbor's cat
crossed that street and came home with a sliver
long as an evil finger poking its eye.
Poor orange cat it couldn't tear, blink, or close its eyes
and sleep even in death."
Thank you very much for coming.
[APPLAUSE]