The American Poetry Review

TWO POEMS

Vectors 5.2: PG-50

It’s soothing when the newly dead are way older than I am. This guy was 95. His picture—middle-aged, archaic glasses—freezes him somewhere around 1970. But even when they are my age and live in my town and share so many of my habits and interests that it’s upsetting, I keep on. Since never in recorded history has anyone died while reading the obituaries.

When we’re talking happily, life is enough. It’s when I’m sitting around restless and bored with it that I worry about how little is left.

The years get shorter but the hours are just as long

It’s not so much that I’m hard of hearing, it’s just that it takes me longer to get back from wherever I go in my head these days. Sometimes I don’t make sense of your words till a second or two after I’ve said Or an hour after, or a

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