Whatever the Tribune said,
I did not attack those nuns.

We were just in an awkward situation--that's all.

My weak bladder condition
is the first thing, in fact, that you
must've learned about me,
considering where you met me
(Finster Alley)
and what I was peeing on
(the dumpster behind your bookstore).

It was spring, I recall,
and you where wearing yellow.
The soft air strolled in from the coast,
and I saw your salmon-colored hair
enhaloed by the afternoon light.
I think I knew I loved you an instant
after I zipped my fly.
You may remember that you did not
immediately call the police.

So yesterday,
when I heard the sirens ricocheting
off the stone walls of St. Catherine's,
I was naturally a bit upset.
I said some words.
I may have gestured in a threatening manner.
But I did not strike, or attempt to strangle, anyone.

I even offered to borrow the hose and wash off their dumpster, for God's sake.

JD Frey -- August 23, 2005


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