I had a picture of myself on my Gold bicycle.
I had a cowboy hat. And a holster. And a cap gun.
I was eight years old.
I had a picture of myself
when all that mattered was Santa.
I was five and I was standing off to
his right. Did I believe in him. I give you
a clue at least to how I thought.
Believing or not believing was not
defined the same way in a kids vocabulary.
It was just Santa Claus.
And we were equals.
I had a picture of my friends
in my year books. I have no family or
relationships. I had a career.
September 