you’re no good
with memories. 

they’re all flat
grainy
ineffectual.

what’s kept preserved:
the creases in his face,
the oldness once
kept within

quickly

pushed to the surface
by methotrexate
and other poisons
meant to stop the cells
from balling in the blood.

The horns honking
with every choked breath, gone
the whiskey, club soda, and peanuts
that accompanied every thoughtful word.

You’ve lost him but
you haven’t lost everything.
He keeps bringing you

here.

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