What They Told Me At The Boy’s Club In Gainesville
Right over there, in the public library, that’s where Rahul got shot–
all engrossed in front of the science fiction shelf, reading Teenage Nymphomaniacs from Mars
with a studious expression and a moderate erection
which may be why he got taken by surprise.
They took him downtown in the ambulance, but left the crime scene cordoned off and
a pool of blood on the hardwood library floor for evidence,
right under the murder mysteries,
like some kind of promotional display;
And Mrs. Kennedy kept the checkout desk open till nine P.M., out of principle, even
though she was frowning and crying the whole two hours,
and making little noises to herself
which in a book might have been described as “muffled cries for help.” And
Rahul, who didn’t make it all the way to closing time,
died in the corridor of Mercy General,
and left his seventeen-year-old body on the crash cart
with the unused library card in his front shirt pocket, as he
himself was a book that was never carefully read.
To some it signified the need
for more metal detectors;
for others it was definite proof
that reading can be bad for your health
but when the priest at the funeral said that Rahul had gone to a better place we
could only hope that it looked nothing like Gainesville, Florida;
and it made us feel better to imagine
that the angels who met and took him there
appeared in the disguise
of teenage nymphomaniacs from Mars.
