Model American
	---------------

	When I was eight, I did not love him
	and I was told to brush with vigor.
	Mother had no vigor, yet she liked
	the way he said this in a speech
	and tried to force it in my head.

	Grandpa grumbled how Jack
	was just like Joe, no damned good.
	Jack was no Berliner no matter what he said.
	Mother said not to listen, Gramps was old.

	All the teachers cried when he was shot,
	and they sent us home.  I couldn't watch cartoons; 
	each station showed the dark parade instead.
	When we returned, his ghost still rode 
	the flagpole as an American example.	

	My brother had a presidential model  
	in a rocking chair.  Its head had come unglued,
	so we put it in Jack's plastic lap
	since he was already dead...

	and he threw out no more baseballs because
	he can't hit he can'thithekennhidhekennedy --
	he's out.


				Karen Tellefsen
				kat2@mindspring.com

Next poem, Penn Station Dash .

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