— the two have nothing at all to do
with each other except in my mind
for, when I was a child, I used to sit
at the edge of a small rotunda
within the grounds of a church
to wait for my parents
who would pick me up
in our red pick up truck
after my Karate class in school.
I would wear my white gi
and my legs would dangle over
the white concrete structure.
I would sit beside metal railings
which were twisted and gnarled.
It would always be dark
and I would always be alone,
my confidence more than a little shaken
despite the number of katas
that I have mastered that afternoon.
I would look at the church to my left
and the trees in the middle
of the concrete grounds
and I would inhale the cool evening air.
And then my spirits would soar
the moment our truck came into view.
And my mom, my brother, and myself
would all fit snugly in the front seat
and I would stick my face happily
in front of the air-conditioner while my dad
played Jim Croce in the cassette player.