When my teeth gnash and a hand flies
to my mouth, as if to outsmart
the spasm; when my lips
twinge with a phantom numbness,

and my cheeks flush, I realize
how little control I have over my life,
how swiftly it could be snatched
like an infant out of my arms,

my unborn son, I imagine, my future
dashed at my feet, and I feel nostalgic
for the life I live. What I wouldn’t give
to walk one last time with you,

my wife, to push our shopping cart
once more in Walmart and sift
through a crate of lemons
for the one unblemished yellow rind.

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