WE HAVE PLAYED
We have played our hand out until there was nothing
left - thatched huts, old barns, the carry-over of an
old generation. Memories are starker than the end of
an envelope flap slicing into a tongue. The goats are
somehow brought out of the truck on the side lawn
of Washington Square. Tomorrow is the big day.
-
Love abounds where evil sleeps - two-for-one, like
the price of a bargain-basement slip-up. The lovers, by
this time tomorrow, will be all arrayed - arms a'kimbo,
things overlapping, red stains and bruises on necks and
legs. Frankly, me dear, I cannot take it any more.
It has all become too much. We have played.
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