Google Search: “Julie Marie Wade”
I am dead in Mississippi—
dead & Catholic.
A cheerleading coach who passed suddenly on
Wednesday night from “causes unknown.”
In Oxford, they mourn with a funeral mass,
send flowers to the family that survives me.
In Grace, I am a certified flight instructor
eager to help you earn your small-plane pilot’s license.
I am bankrupt in Huntington with Christine Michelle.
We owe almost two hundred grand.
In Russell Springs, Kentucky, I’m a plain name
caught in the ever-updating slaw of the digital White Pages.
In Bologna, an English instructor at the University.
My students seem to like me well enough on ratemyprofessor.com.
Somewhere, perhaps, I am also the daughter my
parents wanted, my name changed now to my husband’s,
making me that much harder to find. I am so busy with
the PTA & the garden club I hardly have the time to go online.
But in Galveston, a meek housewife no longer.
Bear witness to the fuck-you face of my grainy mug shot.
I’m guilty of capias pro fine—when a defendant defaults
on some binding agreement with the municipal powers that be.
One way or another, I think I’ve been guilty of
capias pro fine all my life.
In Ultimate Clear Lake, Texas, a report of aggravated
assault lists me simply, at 49, as “the victim.”
