The Calculator He wears one of those three-piece suits You find hanging at Goodwill, The vest inside the coat. Tonight it’s the maroon one. But always the same white shoes He keeps clean Even when he isn’t. He’s writing a memoir on his calculator. You know the kind. Texas Instruments. Powered by sunlight. Each series of numbers is a scene. 846102473309 is the time His dad took his belt off And made him whip his mother with it And she crying and whispering For him to whip her harder So it would be over sooner. 224701228398 is the time He woke up in Cleveland With no memory Of traveling to Cleveland. 563893900453 is the time The nurse was so kind to him Because, she told him, He reminded her of her son. To write a new scene means He must erase the old one. So it’s one memory at a time So long as the sun shines.
Beautiful.