Thursday, January 23, 2014

PERFECT STRANGERS

Thank god!
for those pink 

and Polish 
chubby cops—classic Chicago-

accented brown
and khaki-

clad—ones
who come fast

who stop
and help

and hear—
by the disorienting-
ly flashing and on-
rushing roadside—your side;

whom, later-on 
you remember 
only— 

such mawkish-
ly irrelevant 
miniature things—a plain silver 

band squeezing fat 
and strong fingers—the ones 

that executed 
procedure so reassuringly
deliberately!—

the clean cold
glint of 
a gold bar that stopped after
the letters -s-k-i—

the curious-
ly apropos
rhetorical fact

that after all that, it was
nothing—and they 
simply necessarily never

ever
see you again.

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