I play a show in Boston

on my 19th birthday. It’s

the past now. I get drunk

on some guy’s porch and leave

with his old army coat.

“I’m not the man who wore

that coat,” he says, “not

anymore.” It hangs down to

my knees. His name is Andy.

On the coat he’s stitched

FUCK WAR in bright red thread.

“Be careful when you wear

this thing,” he says. I get

arrested in it 10

months later on the sidewalk

outside of the place

where I’ve been sleeping on

the floor since I moved back

from Tennessee. I know

I’m fucked when I see 2

cop cars roll up on me

and they call me by name

because they’ve picked me up

before. “So, Mr. Knight,

you don’t like war, huh?” I

say, no, I fucking hate

it. Then they say, “have you

been drinking?” which of course

I have but there’s no way

they know this so I tell

them no. “So you won’t mind

taking this breathalyzer?”

I say, I do mind. I

say, I don’ t have to take

it, I have rights. They say,

“you’re right. You do have rights.

You have the right to go

to jail for failing to

comply with this request.

You have the right to stay

locked in that cell until

you blow into this tube.”

True to their word, I’m cuffed

and taken to the jail.

They take my shoelaces

and belt but let me keep

the coat because I don’ t

have on a shirt. I block

the light out with it while

I try to sleep away

a present I cannot

endure. My cellmates come

and go. They leave behind

their navy blue sleep matts

which I stack up until

I almost can believe

I’m in a bed. I’m in

the tunnel. Here we are

again. The city’s hung

a mirror at one end

and underneath it someone’s

written, “mirrors are

the portals to other

dimensions.” I don’t look

too close. My Grandpa Knight

gets drafted and shipped out

to kill in Vietnam

one month before my dad

is born. He comes back home

addicted to cocaine

and alcohol and with

a temper no one talks

about except to say

“it got real bad.” They have

another kid and then

he leaves again, this time

for good. I’ve only seen

two photos of him and

in both his eyes stare at

another world. He finds

another wife and has

another son. Moves down

to Cleveland, gets a job

in tech, a house near

Cuyahoga River, has

a heart attack and dies

at 34 just as

my dad is starting high school.

In the present I turn

31, and I’ve been

smoking since I turned

13. I have to stop.

While I am growing up

my great aunts Mary-Jane

and Nancy always say

“you have your grandpa’s nose”

but never tell me what

it means. It comes as

a complete surprise, what lays

within me, waiting to

rise up and be resolved,

the unjust murders

perpetrated by this blood,

the stains left on the souls

of my ancestors, sent

as pawns to wage unholy

wars. It’s only when

I come home broken that

they tell me of this curse.

It’s over now. It ends

with me. I’ve already

survived what stopped the hearts

of my grandfather and

his father first. And soon

I’ll be a father, too,

and I won’t disappear

my heart will not give out

they’ll have to kill me if

they plan to send me off

to war. I’ll be around.