Dear Kevin,

Author's Note: This poem was written in response to a poetry collection by Kevin A. Gonzalez called "Cultural Studies." The collection was both aggravating and inspiring, thus the hard but tender feel I was going for. It is only a draft.

Dear Kevin,

I suppose all of your pain makes it okay to be a prick? But that’s no way to start a poem, is it? I’ve already filled all of the question mark cups allowed—soon the bartenders in my workshop will cut me off. Drinking words is a tired metaphor we both still serve. Let’s move on to places—I’ll sip New Glarus, you can savor San Juan.

An ampersand is just a child curled up & hugging his knees. I am that child & you—you are nestling in its curves, nursing your mitt hand which I’m sure all of those women-poets told you was much too small for baseball. But it’s stylish to be vegetarian—it’s even more stylish to make fun of vegetarians.

Dear Kevin, it is okay to be afraid. Ghosts are merely rain-soaked jackets we have sloughed off too early. Yours is molding on the beaches of Puerto Rico & mine is frozen in the ravines of Wisconsin. We are all someplace-people. We all come from hate-filled question marks. We all have coat-covered ampersands shivering inside our chest cavities.