What he knew when
He should have known. He should have known.
When he saw the photo of the near-naked man on the entry table,
He should have demanded. . .something.
Maybe he should have.
Or maybe he should have put together
the strange smells she brought home on her clothes
with the odd absences
and that steely-reedy tone that she got
when she told a lie. Shit, maybe he did know.
But he didn't.
The place where he would have put that knowledge
was already filled up with stories he used to know
Fat stories, true stories, antibodies, songs.
All he knows now is this:
He doesn’t want to hurt anybody.
He doesn’t want to be the cause of anything.
Ahimsa, he remembers that word: harmlessness.
He would be the guy who reduces the pain in the world,
He'll take a new name, call him:
Doctor More Feen
or Kiss My Ass Perino.
It was his way all along
and that much, at least, he knew.