But back to the summer day the spikegrazed my brother's scalp: I slept beside himin his racing car bed and my father woke meand slapped my face, thinking, I assume, of sex,whereas I was already thinking about death.Urban, suburban, observant, obsessive and wickedly witty, the poems in Kathryn Maris's third book range over such subjects as parenthood, marriage, adultery, the politics of children's sports contests, female incarceration and psychoanalysis.