I have become a broken student of what people say When they mean something other than what they say. I have been dealing with some things meant pregnant. God gives all sorts of gifts meant an autistic daughter. Trying to get centered meant finding a halfway house. A little time off meant walking to the police station to Hand over the rifle he had spent the whole night with, Staring at the barrel, a shoelace attached to the trigger. And the police officer on duty at eight in the morning, Who oddly had served in the same platoon in a war, Gently took the rifle and checked the safety and came Around the desk and wrapped his arm around the guy And walked him down to the little park by the library, Where they sat and talked for hours. Jarheads jawing, That was the phrase the policeman used when he told Me the story, and he said it with a smile, but he knew And I knew that what he said isn’t at all what he said.