I began this sequence with a page of facts. 
I learned each one by listening at half-open doors. 
My mother says this is no way to begin a monograph.
In her opinion, eavesdropping is sneaky and unwise. 
She tells me she could eat with the Queen, 
her manners are so good. 
I ask if she’s eaten with the Queen, or even a Duke. 
That’s not the point, she says. How will you ever get a job 
if you stand around listening at half-open doors? 
I tell her I have a wonderful job, I’ve eaten with a Duke, 
who offered me a cigarette from a silver case. 
No, I said, I don’t smoke, and he asked what I did for fun. 
I couldn’t think of anything, so I lied and said I walked 
a tightrope and trained lions to do cartwheels in the sand. 
My mother said I should go on Jeopardy, because I think 
so quickly on my feet, but when I rang the bell 
four angels dropped out of the night sky.
I don’t believe they were dead, but they did not look 
lively at all, and soon there were ambulances and cop cars, 
lights flashing blue and red. We snuck out the back 
of the castle, or the big house anyway, 
or maybe It was just the garage, hard to tell 
in that neighborhood. We were hungry beyond belief, 
so we stopped for hot dogs at the local Tasty Cone, 
which had opened the year my mother was born. 
Happy Birthday, the girl said as she handed over our food  
dripping with mustard and kraut, complimentary sundaes on the side.