Evidence

       Edward Nelson,

having said his piece,

slipped quietly out of town

and across the country

to have his face erased

and live a life in peace

But alone on the road

he still lacked a sense

of purpose

He resolved to return

to see if anyone

had learned their lesson

       Edward Nelson

does not lie in the grave

marked “Edward Nelson”

With Edward and his son gone

and Marie dead

the elder Nelsons chose to

bury Edward’s absence

as another victim

whose body had been lost

He would have liked that,

they thought

       Edward Nelson

Lived in a nice, suburban neighborhood

in a nice, suburban house

with a nice, suburban wife

a suit, a tie

a life, a smile

But one day

he stopped

stopped loving his wife

stopped taking his pills

stopped going to work

stopped living another man’s life

Stopped

a whole community

but not long enough

to open their eyes

       When you open the tomb

You should find the neighbor girl Candice

opened with glass

-visionary voyeur that I am-

cut from throat to queynte

Most of Mr. Anderson

with his toes ground down

so he couldn’t run away

while I fed his face to the lawn

In front of the small window in north wall

you’ll find Mr. and Mrs. McCormack

who I unfortunately had to strangle

because, despite the delicious irony

of lovers choking on mistletoe

it just isn’t very effective

       When you open the tomb

you should find Michael (Molly) Jones

in an unlocked chest

please note that

I did his parents the courtesy

of taking off his dress

but only because most of the sequins

went missing in transport

I also did them the favor

of doing in that pesky gossip

the alcoholic Ms. Adams

though I did try to warn her:

“in vino, vitriol”

You’ll find her bricked in the basement

unfortunately sans Amantillado

       When you open the tomb

You’ll have to dig to the bottom

to find my nice, suburban wife

as pretty as she was

on the day of our wedding

complete with cold gray skin

and empty eyes

You won’t find my son

and don’t think you’re missing him

He ran away on his own accord

sometime before Christmas

he took his school books

and a photo of his mother

but not of me

      You don’t know me

You don’t know my family

my history

my life, my love

a mystery

to you, oh flapping mouth

to you, oh prying eyes

I put on a great show

but you only saw the encore

so go ahead

mutter your musings

through a closed curtain

I’ve long ago

slipped out the wings

       You don’t know me

though you had plenty of chances

to peak behind the veil

Instead you sat back

told another joke

took another drink

and asked

“how’s the weather?”

“how’s the lawn?”

We both know

you don’t care

You only want to watch

my lips contort as I recite

rehearsed answers to see if I’ve

forgotten my commandments

      You don’t know me

who I am

or what I want

you’ll never understand

It was all just an act

the before, the after

the in-between

Characters without

an actor behind the mask

only a long series of costume changes

and onion-thick layers

of make-up wrapped

around a hollow core

       When you say

you’re the son of a

suspected serial killer

people don’t look at you the same

as much as I hate it, I can’t change it

Am I ashamed?

of what?- I’ve done nothing

except run away

but only to escape

from under his shadow

       When you say

“Are you here with your parents?”

I cringe at the hotel desk

but steel my resolve and say

“Nah, I’m 18”

as far as you

and this fake ID

are concerned

Trust me when I say

you’d be a lot more worried

if you saw my real name

and I’d really rather you didn’t

not because I’m ashamed

but because it’s a very hard name

to get rid of these days

       When you say

“You seem familiar”

I slip my sunglasses

further back on my nose

and say “can’t imagine why”

then slink off into the crowd

Every television

becomes a mirror circa 5:37

when the story of Edward Nelson

turns to that of his wayward son

Now on the lamb

from prying eyes and

syrupy school-yard gossips

Three states away and still

the whispers follow in my ear

Where, oh where

has that Nelson boy gone?

       This car has been crashing

since this time last millennium

We’ve all been stuck here

with the widowed Mrs. Alice Williams

as she buses a table to make room

for the next party of six

for the same party of six

as a million times before

in the middle of the heaviest

and longest after-church Easter rush

this town has ever seen

Once freshly thawed

from the longest winter

we’d ever known

Now we’re just stuck

in the same Sunday afternoon

       This car has been crashing

this same big window

into the same infinity of tiny pieces

showering Alice’s hair in the same places

with the same razor shards

as she moves to refill Mr. Jones’

coffee cup

over and over and over

forever

She fills his cup with the same coffee

she hands the missus the same napkin

and she grabs the same broom

to sweep the same broken glass off the floor

like she’s done a million times before

on this same damn day

       This car has been crashing

for far too long

Just when we’d thought

we’d come unstuck

this bright blue sedan

over-whelmed by inertia

came crashing through our quiet lives

again

It seems the record started skipping

under the stress of déjà vu

So we’ve been stuck in the same groove

groove

groove

This car has been crashing

       Sitting in recovery

with gauze thickly padded

where my eyes, nose, ears,

fingers, nipples and cock

once were

my head throbs

as anesthesia fades

In its wake,

memory and motivation

resurge, bringing with them

new-found glee

at having reached

the final step

       Sitting in recovery

I desperately want to scratch

the million stitches

forming a continent of rail lines

across the front of my head

Free now from extraneous

facial features except

these damn scars

But it’s all worth it

to know they

won’t get what they wanted

closure, answers, a scapegoat

No, all they’ll get

is a faceless man

and a fiery car crash

       Sitting in recovery

my mind runs over

the moment painstakingly etched

in the back of my skull

the moment I’ve waited

two years to create

8 gallons of gasoline

for the tank of the car

and 20 for the trunk

should return me back east

with plenty left over

to end this story

with a quick, painless trip

straight through the windshield

and into the air

for all to see

       Please stay tuned

for Good Morning Suburbia at 10

where Sylvia Hymen and Vulva Marx

will show us the latest

in penny-pinching fashions

from your friends at Wal-Mart

Tall, white, skinny, blond

plastic-perfect models will parade

in dirt-cheap fashions

in order to remind you

where you should really be shopping

       Please stay tuned

for you local news at noon

where Vas Deferens will interview

nine young, virile members of

Suburbia High’s varsity football team

## ###

This just in

five bodies have been uncovered

in the attic of a house

on West Poplar

Gory details, hateful neighbors

All the delicious secrets

you only here about post-mortem

and much more

at six

       Please stayed tuned

for an update

on Mumps the kitten

who’s been stuck in a tree for hours

helpless after being chased

by a rabid dog

Whom authorities neutralized

and quickly carted off for examination

leaving poor Mumps alone

twenty-three feet off the ground

       Raise him up

right, proper and true

better than me,

and better than you

Show him the way

of the world we know

show him what to do

who to know, where to go

Never let him wander

unattended or alone

should he want to use his teeth

we will throw him a bone

       Raise him up

on a pedestal when he’s done right

and tear him down

when we see something we don’t like

He’s got to be normal

just like the rest of them

and never appear

as a girl among men

Repeat after me:

sex is healthy, violence is fun

You’re no one special

You’re just our son

      Raise him up

from the ground

whenever he’s fallen

too far down

to help him self

from sinking in

and if he breaks

we can begin

again, over and over

until we get it right

Eyes keen, back straight

collar buttoned and mouth shut tight