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petergolub

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04:50 pm: The poem begins with a series of clichés
the things you take with you define the place
definitions are in the eye of the beholder
the beholder’s eye is allergic to spring

we move onto the self effacing humiliations
curled up under the office desk with a bottle of gin
staring at the plastic phone
wondering what she is doing now
then trying to sound brave in front of the husband
jumping over the chain link fence, ripping your pants right off
landing onto a trampoline, bouncing over the white fence,
and into a kiddy pool full of brown water and autumn leaves

you get up out of the poem
to turn down the music in your library
say a few words in self defense
there is so much death everywhere
you look at your palms and say “good monkey”

you return
the brown leaves in the kiddy pool are now dry dust
“where is she?”
my death’s dead
the phone rings
then another and another
it grows dark
you see the tiny blue screens
bobbing up and down
with the empty street

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