trying to but saying it’s
enjoyable, the timing
plotting charting waiting
bleeding
year after year we went
upstairs, year after year we’d grope
and shuffle and go again simply
for our own, for its own sake. no, we’re
not trying. But we were: sweat and sense—all aim
some days
and the doctors saying infertile
but not using that word.
we plumb and drill
because we couldn’t not…and once more,
always one more once more
and then finally!
I took him upstairs,
and again in the morning
and even though I came
to do other things
(it
was vacation
—it
was late breakfast
and
let’s fool around)
and it was noon. And
by one, a friend would tell me that
my student Justin
had been crushed to death
under his car.
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