across the room, from the smashed-up head
with the crooked eye-glasses.
His momma looked on
from her stool in the back, proud as hell, and Maestra
stood to the side, hip against a desk, nodding her head
at every word—Yes!
He told us, “I like cars—
I like to clean the buses and be outside.
I want to walk to the corner store and buy my coke.”
Damn. He quickly blew up to bits and reconstructed everything—
he laid to rest perception with his quiet thundering—fists
clenched tight, elbows rattling with each
“I can go to the football game.
I like the 49ers and Pence is my favorite Giants.
I want to work at a museum.
I like hats and red shirts.”
He stood up and told us
with the most specific detail
I am Ulyses.
Once he let it out, he could not be denied.
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