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Memorial to Blue


There, a memorial on the corner to three teens
killed as their coach drove them home from a tournament.
The other anxious driver, reckless, failing to halt. Timeless 
photographs on filigree crosses at the intersection.

And here, a tattered man with a sign in his hands
in the grocery parking lot. Cardboard indicating that
any kind of work would do. There’s a certain stretch

of road coming home from Vegas where one brother
nearly died. His broken neck mended with halo
and surgical screws. There, where another did succumb.
Motorcycle forgetting to curve at Cimarron.


Internal compass cracked, or perhaps,
ignored. Alcohol poured onto the fire of what he
finally could not forgive.


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