In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

coping (more or less) 259 The dead, the garbage and the rage Iris Litt Kilroylike I peer a little way beyond the litterbugged ditch of the dead, the garbage and the rage to the potential peace of Saturdays with poems the pleasant moment of this you at the door or you other laughing in the café. People don’t kill themselves because they don’t want their lives but because they want something their lives won’t give them but don’t believe they have a right to fight for. Now my-dear-all-those-years-behind, I’ve had to walk that same terrain to know why you did it. Well, the earth is strewn with bodies. One is you. I will live to cook a good stew, talk to my children, finish these poems, make love to a few special people, know possible peace. Tastes of happiness tease me back. I’m sorry you stopped short, dropped back, couldn’t hold. I forgive you and I’m sorry, sorry, but I grow old, have to leave you behind, behind with the blind anger, guilt, and pain and try again. That half a loaf we joked about: I’ll take it. I’d like to join you but I’m sorry, sorry, sorry I can’t make it. ...

Share