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Half Loaf


by Gary Percesepe


“The guests arrived at the summer house.”—Pushkin

 

This snowy morning I'm soothing myself

with bacon, which I haven't tried in years.

 

Hot chocolate, china. Why not. And this wee bread I

found at Kroger packaged in half a loaf for divorced men.

 

No woman to remove my bandana, or point her fork at me.

No one to ask, after a fall on black ice at work bounced

 

my head off the pavement:  Baby, do I need a

Cat Scan? Ha! she'd say, picking at her pale lipstick

 

You def need a brain scan. No seriously, I'd say,

do you think I should go to the emergency room?

 

And she'd reach over in bed, take my hand, and say

firmly, I'm your emergency, baby. I'm it. Right here.

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