the priest who never slept

was our favorite

you could talk to him

he was always there alone

smoking and writing

equations on the board

but poor Gaynel

took her own life

at sixteen

and the little longhaired girl

with glasses

cried for her

and got out of that

stuck up school

I never wanted to go

that’s how we met

in a suburban development

with no trees

called Forest Glen

not far from the Thruway

the priest had theories

that’d scare you

if you ever thought of ‘em

and the little longhaired girl

with glasses was very thin

and very sad

in the spring

the snow was filthy

still in melting piles

shrinking

the earth smelled

like an open wound

wet clay and rotten leaves

trees still bare

on Pleasant Avenue

I smell the raindrops

in her hair

she’s my best friend

and we both

wear long coats.

debris in the gutter

broken plastic toys

shreds of colorful

garbage

in the living

room we watched

he held a gun

to the man’s head

and blew his brains out

everybody saw

and soon

a few minutes later

the Beatles

were somberly singing

let it be.