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NECK ON THE TRAIN TRACKS
Private Notes
Private Notes
Notes
Forgotten heads lie
rolled under the couch
with the dust and a few pieces of stale popcorn.
Glass shards lay
in groups
huddling their edges for my skin to break on their backs.
Yesterday three people were stabbed to death on a train in Portland
by a man with no hair
and too many tattoos.
Today I ducked a golf club.
Tomorrow, perhaps not.
There is blood on the couch
not from this time.
I use makeup now.
Three dead in Portland
A war across the world --
refugees spilling out the seems of an industrial coast.
My sister dying on the other side of the country.
I can duck again.
It's not that bad.
Comments
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Wow, this is so emotive. Thank you for sharing this. I'm sure many of us can relate to this.
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I can duck again.It's not that bad. 2 of 2 << Previous R
That's a great line to end this poem -- and unexpected.