Follow Through

I was hassled by some burglars. They pushed me around on the streets of the city where we live. I thought of you, and I thought of the broken baby splayed out and helpless while they went to work on me. I finally understood him and all we had not done for him. I occupied myself with thoughts of how we might live differently. The sky was made of red hands interlocking. I was gutted again and again by the bits of glass gathering up to us like concerned citizens.

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