Once on a yellow piece of paper with green linesthe wrote a poemAnd he called it "Chops"tbecause that was the name of his dogAnd that's what it was all aboutAnd his teacher gave him an Atand a gold starAnd his mother hung it on the kitchen doortand read it to his auntsThat was the year Father Tracyttook all the kids to the zooAnd he let them sing on the busAnd his little sister was borntwith tiny toenails and no hairAnd his mother and father kissed a lotAnd the girl around the corner sent him aValentine signed with a row of X'stand he had to ask his father what the X's meantAnd his father always tucked him in bed at nightAnd was always there to do itOnce on a piece of white paper with blue linesthe wrote a poemAnd he called it "Autumn"tbecause that was the name of the seasonAnd that's what it was all aboutAnd his teacher gave him an Atand asked him to write more clearlyAnd his mother never hung it on the kitchen doortbecause of its new paintAnd the kids told himtthat Father Tracy smoked cigarsAnd left butts on the pewsAnd sometimes they would burn holesThat was the year his sister got glassestwith thick lenses and black framesAnd the girl around the corner laughedtwhen he asked her to go see Santa ClausAnd the kids told him whythis mother and father kissed a lotAnd his father never tucked him in bed at nightAnd his father got madtwhen he cried for him to do it.Once on a paper torn from his notebookthe wrote a poemAnd he called it "Innocence: A Question"tbecause that was the question about his girlAnd that's what it was all aboutAnd his professor gave him an Atand a strange steady lookAnd his mother never hung it on the kitchen doortbecause he never showed herThat was the year that Father Tracy diedAnd he forgot how the endtof the Apostle's Creed wentAnd he caught his sistertmaking out on the back porchAnd his mother and father never kissedtor even talkedAnd the girl around the cornertwore too much makeupThat made him cough when he kissed hertbut he kissed her anywaytbecause that was the thing to doAnd at three a.m. he tucked himself into bedthis father snoring soundlyThat's why on the back of a brown paper bagthe tried another poemAnd he called it "Absolutely Nothing"Because that's what it was really all aboutAnd he gave himself an Atand a slash on each damned wristAnd he hung it on the bathroom doortbecause this time he didn't thinkthe could reach the kitchen.