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The Investment

Heavy in a middle evening slump
I was absorbed by comfort and TV.
Its lulling drama worked such strange depression
I was rattled by your call, and lazily
Resentful as I warmed the car to fetch
You from the station. Bitter on the way,
The fans blew hard, dry heat as if to stretch
That living-room comfort to this new space.

Leering towards the hand of light on black
Tarmac I grieved for loss that was not something
You could feel, or fill. Waxy, you sat
Silent beside (returns are always quiet
Like this) full of your own leaving. Back.
I broke the seal and new and now warmed air
Escaped, the wasted product of a trip
That cut from my night a twenty minute share.

The car slid clean to its own neat square
And I raised a hand above my head to feel
The cold, spring-reluctant edge of the garage door.
And as I tugged to break the gravity
I raised my head towards my hands and saw
Above its white trap all the black of waves
Not ridden, and a thousand minutes of stars.
Gaping, I lowered the door and, above all,
the volume was raised.

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