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Hope

04 May
He got his brother's phone call while wiping a cabinet.
His eyes went side to side --like a cartoon character
having a conniption. Even though there was an inkling
of a nose-dive, the mind plays tricks thinking maybe; 
a rally could plant the feet on terra firma again.

There was too much to express without ample time.
Junior had rehearsed the denouement until fluent, but
forty miles and his Mazda 626 needed a miracle; jetting
90 mph weaving and ducking as one possessed might
reach there ahead of the last exhale and lifting sheet. 

He turned into the valet entrance near the sliding glass.
His brother stood there expressionless, the color of slate.
He bounded out and up through the doors and asked his
brother, "Am I in time?" --the answer was like a chest stab;
"--He passed 15 minutes ago."  Junior had missed Senior.



 
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Posted by on May 4, 2021 in Poetry

 

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