Mike Puican

he can finally stop wondering whether God exists or if
he'll ever have the nerve to hug his father. He no longer
has to say, "A part of me feels uncomfortable with the Democrats."
Finally he can stop thinking about what he should have said
in the custody hearing, how he shouldn't have been so flip
to the court-ordered psychologist. He can stop daydreaming
about the tree of heaven that grows 15 feet each year
even though the Polish lady cuts it to the ground each spring,
stop composing what he would say to the daughter he hasn't seen
in 17 years. He can stop trying to catch the cat on the counter
licking the margarine, stop worrying about the dreams
in which he walks on the bottom of the ocean or has
sex with the friendly crossing guard. No longer will he have to
wait in a barely moving line at the city auto pound at 2 am
reading a New Age pamphlet that says everything is good
and will be getting even better very soon.