<tate's "absences" part 10> 2002-11-24.7:46 p.m. 10. of "Absences" James Tate I was confused then I got used to it as I got used to whiskers. The laugh is bitter & forced, flat as a hungover Sunday school teacher all beat-up by the blight of the truth of the night before. There, apologize, for thinking. A pinched and brittle smile. Throw a handful of magic purple dust in my eyes so I can see the last straw. All the time I am afraid the children from my childhood will get me, my whistling hot fantasy:� those were great moments in somebody's life. I look at the ceiling, then turn and avert my eyes, and say exactly what is expected of me: the days just come to me. Why aren't you in my way? back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad