The Package
Altus, Oklahoma, June 18, 1991, Age 19

I'm nineteen today and a small package
sits on my dresser, decorated
with a woman's handwriting
that has spelled my name wrong. 
Grandpa says,
Ain't you gonna open that package?
So I get it and tear the paper down 
to a small box, until I can read 
the label,

Lucky Buddha.

Inside, a small green statue
its round plastic belly five times
the size of its head, and I remember
my letter to Jimmy.

...Just read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance...

The Buddha is the size of my hand,
on the bottom stamped in plastic
the instructions:

Rub the belly vigorously
and you will get money.

I imagine my brother's girlfriend
visiting him behind the one inch thick
plexi-glass, her permed hair shaking
as she writes the wrong letters of my name
in bright red cursive, my brother dreaming 
of my hand rubbing a small green belly,
smiling with this bright thought
shining like white snow in his mind,
absolutely convinced 
that this life could be 
so easy.