TIME OUT

When I was six, Uncle Harry
emerged from shadows dressed to kill.
His pinstriped suit concealed
a pistol, his hat cocked,
hid his eyes from the outside world,
where his mind remained locked
behind steel bars.

One morning I peeked through
the kitchen door and saw him
drinking coffee with mamma
as he told daddy about Bonnie & Clyde,
who, riddled with bullets,
had no chance to survive.
Suddenly he walked right for me,
picked me up, swooped me
through the air; dizzy with delight
I lost all fear.

After school, I watched
him pull "Pretty Betty" out
from underneath the bed;
she was sawed off and illegal.
He wiped down her barrel
and buffed her butt
until the notches shined -
She was our little secret!

Lying low under
the glare of a naked bulb
he drank whiskey and wept
writing love letters to his ex-cellmate.
On the first of every month
he mailed his heartache
with three cartons of cigarettes
to Joliet State Penitentiary.

Late one night
Cops banged on the door.
They flashed their lights and badges
as my uncle took flight,
back into the shadows
of memory.

BROKEN BONDS

RETURN