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    Forgiveness Parade
    Forgiveness Parade
    Forgiveness Parade
    Ebook72 pages29 minutes

    Forgiveness Parade

    By Jeffrey McDaniel

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    "Heartbreaking and hilarious simultaneously... " ­ James Tate

    In Jeffrey McDaniel's second book, it is hard to separate the humor from the pain. Both qualities are omnipresent whether he's tackling dysfunctional family memories in 'The Most Awful Lullaby', or broken-hearted romance in poems like 'Another Long Day in the Office of Dreams'.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherManic D Press, Inc.
    Release dateOct 1, 1998
    ISBN9781933149400
    Forgiveness Parade

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    • 5/5
      Energetic, delightful, accessible poetry by a young master.

    Book preview

    Forgiveness Parade - Jeffrey McDaniel

    SURVIVOR’S GLEE

    I strapped on an oxygen tank and dove

    into the past, paddling back through the years,

    emerging from a manhole on memory lane.

    The boondocks were doing just fine without me.

    The car dealerships. The trash heaps. The stream

    of consciousness where I learned how to skinny-dip

    had slowed down to a trickle of amnesia.

    All the houses had been gutted, except mine,

    where my family was still eating dinner. My parents

    welcomed me with opened elbows. My brother

    looked up to me like a cave drawing on the ceiling.

    The night hobbled by, rattling its beggar’s cup.

    A pipe burst behind my eyes, which brought out

    the plumber in everyone. At a loss for words,

    I placed a seashell on my tongue, and my relatives

    wore bathing suits when they spoke to me.

    HOSTILE PROCTOR

    The only thing I remember about my mother

    and the third grade is the afternoon she wasn’t there

    when I got off the train. After a thousand shoes

    shuffled by, I asked a pair of penny loafers

    for a dime and punched out the number. The phone

    rang and rang like a slapped cheek. A hundred

    briefcases swung past. I tightened my face

    and sailed the thirteen city blocks without her.

    I pressed the doorbell, like gum into a bastard’s

    skull. She appeared, clutching a wine glass

    like a passport, a tiny black suitcase under each eye.

    I peppered that pathetic pink nightgown

    with curse words, until she chased me up the stairs,

    swinging a wire hairbrush. Later, I called Dad

    at the office to complain, but no punishment came,

    and after that, I walked home alone every day.

    WHERE BABIES COME FROM

    For my eighth birthday

    I got a toy train set

    my father helped assemble.

    My job was to hand him

    pieces of track and re-light

    the cigarettes that went out

    in his mouth. Halfway

    through, I asked him

    where babies come from.

    He told me that eight years

    ago today I showed up

    on the front stoop

    in a cardboard box, how

    he spent the whole afternoon

    putting me together,

    just like this train set,

    that I was probably lucky

    the box arrived

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