With Othello in the trees
and Viola waiting in
the wing, the tourist train came
steaming, its belly announcing
its arrival. The turn of
words could not be interrupted,
but our attention, subverted,
snapped into this year. We almost
slipped on future plans, and how
and why and what to accomplish
before we die, before our
unborn children grow up and
leave us for their new world. But
when the last whistle blew, we
once again were cloaked in the
playwright's words, and then another
train came and woke us to what
is real. We watched honesty fail.
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