Sport 35: Winter 2007
Where are the deaths?
Where are the deaths?
Where are the deaths?
he said.
What page?
The ham in his sandwich was pink
and folded
back on itself many times
beneath the lettuce,
and snatches of it
kept falling on the floor.
Where are the deaths?
And he turned the big pages messily,
eating and turning
and spilling at the same time
until he reached the right page,
the deaths,
at which point he stopped,
ran his finger
down the type
and said:
Well, looks like
my mother
is gone.
Then he put the last corner of
the sandwich in his mouth
and the mouth became entirely full
page 179
and he chewed slowly
as he walked away
back to his desk,
his polished brown shoes
nearly soundless
on the carpeted floor.