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Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Alive in the Dead of Night

Bifocals lie on the kitchen table
with the left earpiece broken off.
I'm wearing drugstore cheaters--
better for the laptop screen.

Mr Coffee recites
his litany of drip
in black Latin.

Air conditioner hums
in the next room.
TV intones
its bland Nunc Dimittis.

At 11 this morning,
I'll see Emily the Excellent
(as I've dubbed my therapist).
This afternoon,
I'll clean the apartment.

Coffee's done.

Down sleepy Route 60
a lone truck rumbles:
resolute, industrious,
headed toward sunrise.

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