the retarded class at Howling Avenue Grammar,
taught by Charlie Baguette’s father,
sold tickets each year to
support their activities;
Charlie and me found a box of them
in his father’s study
and we took them door-to-door
in the neighborhood
selling each for a dollar.
We rode our bicycles up-street
to the toy store
and spent the money;
my grandmother asked me how did I get
the new toys
and I lied
and she gave me dirty looks
all day
and the next
but I stuck to my story
until Saturday
when I went to confession
and told the priest
what I had done
and he said
for penance
I was to bring the toys back
then return the money to the
people who bought tickets;
I thought of Mrs. Hellman
her hesitation and
flicker of distrust on her face
and she handed over the dollar,
and I knew I could not,
would not,
go back to her
or to the others.
