Fakebook

There’s a German word for the way the rain

pings the air conditioner. The Cuban cook

at the sandwich shop turns his Marlin’s cap

backwards when the line creeps out the door.

The Maori tattoo a blue stripe behind

their right ear when the surf returns the name

of a lost child. Every other Friday

my stepmother made meatless meatloaf

then drove us to Nana’s to sleep. In Lapland

a man can make a noise with a reindeer horn

that will keep a dark cloud at bay.

When the freak next door sits on his stoop

and fingers his fretless bass, he’s holding.

The residents of a certain district

in Mexico City have two things

they do with their thumb and an index finger.

One thing is good. The other is not so good

for you. When cable television

came to Madagascar the teenagers

learned about tagging. Now they spraypaint swooshes

on lions and apes. The people of Idaho

have twenty-one words for potato.

When wet tires skid through the intersection

down the block, I place a silk pillowcase

over my face and slowly count to seven.