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I Missed the War We live in your SUV You know, . . .because at my home, mother At yours, wife We ride to places where we can sit Talk hear music jack the heat up and open the sky roof We drink there Sometimes I bring oranges and chocolate Sometimes we smoke a joint and walk the length of the Charles so we can drive back You know, to my mother; your wife Driving home one day we had to wait for an old woman in a screaming pink babushka and bell-bottomed denims to cross Comm Ave. She walked with a cane, but was leading her swartze boyfriend anyway. “That’s us in 50 years,” you said. The next afternoon at the Charles carelessly accommodating one another i point, “Mira, perrito!” “Apenas como yo.” “Si, pero el conoce triqim, y tu solamente de saltar. . .” We laugh like people unafraid of the truth. You kiss and bite my belly, then come in my hand. That night, Lenny (knows triqim, won’t jump) rings and Mrs. Gold had some Israeli soldier/interior designer phone; he never rang back. What does he know that I still refuse to see?
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