I got on my bicycle and rode
all the way to the movies alone
after lunch that Saturday. Sat there
eating popcorn, watched myself
become scenery away from my image.
When I left the theater, it had already
started to get dark and I couldn’t remember
my way back home in that dim autumn light.
I wondered about cowboys, 24-hour movie
theaters, and the possibility of getting picked up
in a bathroom in NYC. Was that possible?
Only on Saturdays, I concluded.
Sundays were for Jesus. I played
the organ at church, and hid behind books
with letters of the alphabet: D to F and G to H.