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Poetry, Summer 2007
Sixes and Sevens by Stephen Sandy


He was suddenly terribly tired

and decided to go to bed.

He hadn’t lost at golf or been fired

yet something was up in his head.

He saw his love was estranged

and a tired heart grow surly.


He had every detail arranged—

he dreamed it all; he’d get up early,

go back to work; Labor is life

it said on the postage stamp.

What he ought to do was find his wife,

comfort her in a parking ramp


in the dark of the echoing sodium light

in the car by now they nearly owned.

But again he felt a gust of fright.

Again the fervent stranger phoned.



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Per Contra Summer 2007