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Poetry #81
(published Early, 2002)
Dean and the Graduated Dinner
by Matthew Wascovich

There is a whistle in the wind that sounds the
raw alarm, it is recommended technology.

You, in your blue jump suit, next to the woman
who drove 200 miles south only to break

down in front of me like her car. For that one,
brief moment as she showered and I shaved,

an ant crawled on the mirror, an ear plugging
of sound. You did not speak with your mouth,

just looked thru the shower curtain, at the ant,
at the mirror, steady with surgical precision.

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