Here is the second poem just published by Misfit Magazine:

I remember November 1963

It was the Saturday
after they’d gunned
down Kennedy.
Too cold for b-ball,
we huddled
in the schoolyard
and talked
at half voice.

We didn’t notice Joel
at the corner of the chain link
until he began to kick
it and scream,
“I’m so ugly.”

And he was.
It was as if
he was sculpted
from a single piece of granite
by an indifferent artist
who said—
“This is good enough,”
and put it aside.

We didn’t see the gun
until he put it
to his head
and pulled the trigger.
We all heard the empty click
and the wail of utter despair.

I remember that click
as clearly as I remember
that last motorcade.
And, I remember,
that even after he dropped
the pistol,
not one of us
ran to help him.