VAYA CON DIOS
When I was a young child
I rode around my parents apartment
on a pony stick wishing my mother
vaya con dios until she would ignore me
by hiding in the Herald Tribune puzzle pages.
When I stopped, she would come out of the paper
and resume her normal activities
until I resurfaced in the living room
under the baby grand, which was also the conning tower
of my submarine. I fired a torpedo
sinking a military ship sailing
across our living room. It burst into flames
and scores of screaming people jumped into
the freezing Atlantic with no hope of salvation.