Cotes-d’Armor by Mark A. Murphy

We no longer believe in the savagery

of history, though the past


still has a way of dictating which pew

and what faith


we stumble into. So we turn away

from the loaded guns


of Emley Moor and Tixall Road

like ghosts in a shooting gallery.


Not so much, out of time, as out of options.

As we cancel friends.


And put the blockers on those we love.

Now breaking bread gives way 


to shoot and run, in the timeless duel

between selective memory


                                   and letting go.

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