Poetry

Joe Dolce: Little Blue Book

Little Blue Book   We were both eleven or twelve, shared desks at St Mary’s Bible study class, reading our little blue Catechism books.   One time he dragged me in a brown wagon across town, straight down the centre of a dangerous five-lane intersection, somehow avoiding whizzing traffic.   My mother was waiting for me, at our front gate, holding the wooden pasta spoon that spoke when words weren’t enough.   A few weeks later, he didn’t come to Bible study. I watched his empty desk, as the nun told us he had been hit by a car and…

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