Wednesday, June 19, 2019

Alyssa Trivett writes

Fifth Strike

I didn't keep track.
It kept track of itself.
Around the go-kart track of
outbursts and missed 
turn signal clicks.
I may have never wanted this,
yet I signed my own permission slip.
And remembered in the end
to let the doubts of the situation
float and head into a pile of rubble
in some unnamed part of the world
no one will have to worry about
or record on an unwinded 
cassette tape left in a pool 
of ice cream in a parking lot.
Let it whirl.
I take my name off your list
and begin
to circle your deceptive words
in a crossword puzzle
though most of them are left
until after the fact.
As a matter of fact.
you can do that for yourself,
from now on, friend.
You Will Never Get Me -- Guido Crepax

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