I visit a high school and the high school kids
ask if I still write poems for Josey. I didn’t
remember kids don’t know the grown-ups all
around them are in love. Their schlubby principal
in his cluttered office. Tired cafeteria ladies
in hairnets, smelling like tater tots. All these
coaches and waiters, all the doctors and great-aunts.
People working drive-thru windows! They smile, they hand
you paper cups filled up with popcorn ice. They were up
all night in bed with someone they can’t get enough of,
can’t stop thinking about. They are making some mental lists.
Enough going on upstairs to last all through a double shift.
Your librarian is writing a love letter. She is smiling, saving it
on her laptop, sighing. And now she is touching her lips.
—Jill McDonough
Jill McDonough teaches in UMass-Boston’s MFA program and in Boston jails.
