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Michael Igoe

Choice of Routine

After I rise from my sleep,

I drown in a state of grace.

Without any preferences

for who holds the power.

They are players onstage

who determine the days

even after the days fade.

I refuse to understand

I can't think this way.

It seemed offhanded

and high and mighty,

just a matter of pride,

to keep an open mind.

You might think twice,

bathed in the limelight

Reservoirs

The things we knew already

have origins in a bare space

we've tried to leave behind.

We looked to replace them,

asking for a second chance.

Murmurs in the afternoon,

shaped by the mainstream

scarred from the mainline.

We thought it was coming to us

if we could gain the upper hand.

A Rare Glimpse

I.
We're certainly lucky
for Dads who helped
as best as they could.
Mine won a good conduct medal
And your dad won a purple heart.
Don't be aghast when I point out,
their nature lies in their morality.
What a difference a day makes
like the days of our enlistment
in the time we spent in Toledo.
We watched sunrise
most cloudless days,
we watched sunsets
if skies were overcast.
What a difference a day makes:
when you joined in the fighting
in the times we spent in Toledo.
It must have been a stroke of luck,
that you were as sinuous as a tiger.

II.
I've tried pointing out
a familiar tract of land
shielded by breakwater.
Where you were menaced
during a time of mourning.
It's something to be expected
in a hand to mouth existence.
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