To that couple facing me:
Man in glasses, bearded,
wielding butter knife, waving it
about, wielding ipad, looking
so--washington, dc
Lady in purple athletic tank-top,
head-banded, phantom pock-marked
from teenage acne, looking
so--the same
a search for new (if not grander) homes,
do you realize the woman across from you,
she's dying?
will you raise your children on that memory,
of death?
will you leave here without
remembering this poem,
this one,
dedicated to you?
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