Tuesday, February 13, 2007


Each morning he carefully made his bed.

Nothing was ever out of place.

The red blanket was spread evenly

at the end of the bed,

and throughout the day the things

that happened happened

in precisely the proper way:

a pair of headlights lit up the road

behind him beautifully,

a walker waved her arms

the way they had to be waved,

the stain on his coffee cup

couldn’t have been any better,

two pens sat on his table

where he had placed them,

his students were flawless teenagers,

while his bed sat in his bedroom

with utter correctness.

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