sits raze jesse's at the front of the room. first desk on the right. he sits with the loss of his infant son. gone before he knew his own name. you lay a hand on the shoulder of this man you hate and ask him how he's been. he lies and says he's fine. you pull his face to your chest and hold it there a while. a bowling ball with hair and eyes. it's only ever known the gutter. no strikes, splits, or spares for this hard sphere. your mother sits beside him, gaunt and agog. you can't catch her eyes. outside, she pushes a doll in a stroller. even she doesn't seem to understand if it's a tribute or a taunt. 250220 what's it to you? who go blather from