4:07 A.M.
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1 |
The note on the kitchen table assures her that he’s gone
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2 |
to buy bread and milk for the coming day. The last
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3 |
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printed words say he’ll be careful and that he loves her:
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4 |
they are probably true.
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5 |
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4:11 A.M.
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6 |
At the corner station he fills the tank and asks for change
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7 |
to use the automated wash. He decides against a second pass
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8 |
and the special hot wax.
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9 |
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10 |
In a blur of blues, cleansing brushes pummel the windows
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11 |
as he scrawls a second note: we are meant to be unsure
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12 |
of what is written here.
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13 |
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…
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14 |
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4:37 A.M.
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15 |
From the break-down lane, he imagines the bay’s salty embrace
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16 |
with distant cities; a big truck’s rumbling spreads through him
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17 |
like a convulsive shiver. The bridge is arresting tonight.
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18 |
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4:39 A.M.
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19 |
There have been women, of course, but mostly he imagines
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20 |
the men who came here before him—those who didn’t hesitate
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21 |
to let the late-September currents do what they would
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22 |
with masculine sorrow. He questions if there was enough time
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23 |
for thoughts of children, enough balance for consideration
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24 |
of legacy, judgment and shame.
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25 |
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4:41 A.M.
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26 |
The door is still open; the engine is still running; and soon
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27 |
his family will wake.
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28 |
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The arches of his naked feet form to the final rail—
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29 |
it's less significant and higher than he remembers.
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30 |
As he teeters, expertly—accepting the odds
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31 |
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in the toss of a coin—paradigms flip; universes
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32 |
pause to see which promises he’ll keep.
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33 |