First Acceptance.

Brown, Jason Lee

First Acceptance

   When the poet places the pistol to his temple
   it isn't the fifty-six meaningless jobs he has lost

   or the four women who have divorced him
   that flash before his eyes in protracted moments.

   Flashing first are phrases like after careful
   consideration, unfortunately, we regret, going

   to pass, not quite right for us, unable to meet
   our current needs. Then the poet is a boy

   on the farm, hitting rocks out of the driveway
   into a sunless sky, with a thin yellow bat he kept

   for thirty-six years because his dad gave it to him
   before driving away. Driveway dust swelled

   behind tires and a tailgate, drifted with the wind
   and disappeared. The boy was twelve when Kate

   not only accepted his date, she made the first move
   in Coulter's basement, the tip of her nose cold

   on his neck, under his jaw, his cheek, his temple,
   each kiss telling him to submit without question.