Todd, Klein, and Me, 11:30 PM, 1974

We are nerd-freaks at school,
Klein and I,
reckoning our teenage middle-class malaise.

In northern winter
all is still, deep and dark.
The sky fills with
dead stars.
Nose hairs freeze,
cold burns my boy-man cheeks and lungs,
my breath hangs before me in a cloud.

Past the Gaudets, the Kirlins, the Panes,
the icy snow shines in electric lamp light,
in drifts against houses and cars,
as an eggshell on the shrubbery.
My steps crunch and echo
down the lonesome street.

In Klein’s warm and darkened den,
we watch our hero;
ghastly thin, blue haired,
a feathered freak.
Intimately he sits on the ledge
of the stage,
waves a wizard's wand and warbles
“Never Never Land…”
through tinny speakers in the
color TV.

Afterward, my steps crunch and echo
back up the lonesome street.

Klein and I are outcasts,
dumb as bricks,
with just enough sense to script
these perfect little moments.