I went into the living room suddenly
to find one of my little nephews
scrubbing his arms with an eraser –
huge livid weals had formed.
I asked him what he was doing
and he replied he was trying
to rub himself out so he could
be drawn all over again.
I said it doesn’t work like that
and gave him a hug. Told him
about an Italian painter
who drew a perfect circle for a Pope.
I said he was that circle. My sister
said he’s having a tough time at school.
My uncles were both drunks. I’m a drunk.
You can rub it out with drink.