it's a wonderful life 

it's a wonderful
midnight--
a wonderful car ride--
a wonderful backyard 
our neighbors built
a tall tall fence
to keep our
headlights & our
eyes we flick like
marbles through 
the grass--
whether we like
it or not-- humans
are great builders
of fences-- 
a wonderful fence 
brick by brick
sectioning off
our own corners
of the sky--
the evergreen
tree who is all
of our grandfathers--
yes he belongs
to us-- 
the fence says
so--
when i was seven
i dreamed
of clothes lines
in the backyard--
of wonderful clothes lines
of my long-sleeve
yellow shirt 
flapping
in august breeze--
dreamed of 
taking images
of the moon
with my 
disposable camera 
dreamed of
of tight-rope
walking-- dreamed
of balancing &
sitting up
on the roof-- 
the fence grows up
to the shingles
but if you look
up you might
believe the
sky would take you
back-- a particle 
in orbit--
a wonderful orbit 
i was there 
roof-thinking
about that movie
"it's a wonderful life"
my uncle used to 
talk about it 
every christmas even
though we seldom watched
the film--
basically these
angels talk this 
guy out of jumping
off a bridge &
killing himself
by showing him
how wonderful his life 
was-- there
are two things
wrong with this movie--
1) this life
is not all that wonderful--
we don't hang a clothes 
line-- 
we don't see
over the fence--
the washing machine
bangs her head into
oblivion-- she too
escaping gravity--
the laundromat
becomes a hymnal 
& on christmas we
all come to bed
to think about
death
2) where have these
angels been for me
& all the times
gravity abandoned
me on roof
top clothes line?
our bridges
don't have angels--
our bridges
have memories &
fences aching to
scrape the underbelly
of mars--
our bridges
have fathers 
with callous fingers
& mothers
with oven mitts--
tonight i felt
a release-- felt
my shoes leave
the snow-crusted
earth &
i rose--
i rose above the 
fence-- above the shingles
above the clothes
line we never hung--
disposable camera
in my hand--
sent into
orbit once
& for all--
these angels
will see me
as a comet maybe--
passing
on occasion to
snap a picture
with the flash on
& then roll
the little black 
plastic dial on
the camera to 
be ready for
the next shot--
the moon still hangs 
un-photographable 
& the other planets 
duck behind their moons
to avoid my lens
so i turn 
to the back yard 
there my brother un-sheaths
his bayonet
& stands--
an angel on
a clothes line--
reeling me
back towards earth 
with his wingless
soldier body--
it's not a wonderful
life--
it's a disposable
camera life--
a roof-top life
a tall tall fence
life--
these angels 
these angels
they're us