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A Poem: Wednesday 8AM. 

Early morning run in Brooklyn Heights
Dreaming of school, Hunter College
First film class.
A whole new world bursting
like a firecracker lit by a couple of kids fooling around on Mott Street just after dusk.

Then came my children
And my indulgences
And my betrayals

I slow down a little
(or perhaps
I’m simply slowing down)

I check my pulse. Sixty-two.
Not bad after two miles.
I feel neither sadness nor guilt
It’s just the facts Ma’am.

Life is good now; I’m a better man for being worse.
A beautiful bitter irony I guess.

Sometimes I feel that I live in two separate worlds
Never quite knowing if my memories
Are whispering in my ear
Or breathing down my neck.
  • A poem by Dean Goldberg.


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