Trooper (for Jeremy Eric Tenenbaum)

In La Tazza, a coffee shop in Manayunk,
a stairway steered you stiffly into a steep-ceiling'd,
Spartan, red-painted basement, where I
was stationed with Chris one autumn night
in '97. How Jeremy's posse picked us up
I don't know, but we all wound up in an
apartment, steep-ceiling'd again, on Main Street. Everyone
was wearing army jackets; Jeremy was uncharacteristically
quiet. He had already lost control of his
tribe, & blew in the wind. The poems sat,
then, wrapped in a dossier-like presentation,
at Villanova, among other secret files; as they
lay, also, in Jeremy's brain, as tokens that
he once cared to be a real army trooper.


The Waiting Room (Heller-Burnham)


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