we approach the age of
possible cures slowly

if we number the dead
we do it backwards
and starting at one thousand

two will be the person
you hold most dear and maybe
you’ll never reach it

maybe you’ll be forced to choose

a child or a spouse
or even a younger sister and
what happens is this

we make love
on the living room couch in
the coldest part of april

the sky is a gift from magritte
the houses on this street
somewhere between obsolete
and sinister

you ask me again how
my father died and i tell you again
that i don’t know

he was alive and then
he was on the kitchen floor

he was hooked up to
competent machines and then
the machines were turned off

and it’s here that
the baby wakes up
and the story is forgotten
until next time

it’s here that the world of
barking dogs and ringing phones
reasserts itself

what goes left unsaid
is that no one has been saved

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