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I hold my breath
thinking of you every time

the front door opens
and closes at my hand,
hoping you sleep through
the shrills

its metal body
makes as it scrapes
against the cement floor;
each hinge shrieking
of its rust

how these sounds
juxtapose the morning’s:
your laughters against
the sunlight seeping
through the skylights

as I open the door
on the way to work
again, I take your voices
with me and play them
in my head

as I watch Ponce de Leon
go by outside the window
because second shift
is the slowest, I’m alone
for the most part

drinking coffee, taking
too many smoke breaks
and all the tables are mine
to take–I miss you
all the while.

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