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After David Wojciechowski

I read a poem about immortality

only misread it as immorality. I learned

about both as a child — from my parents,

from church, from the world at large.

I keep running over that phrase — at large

— trying to misread it as something else.

Sometimes things just are what they are;

no degree of reconsideration — purposeful

or not — can turn them into something else.

And other times, no matter what you do,

a thing won’t stay what it’s supposed to be.

A different kind of poem, another kind of living forever.