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I am on my way to extinction,
here, today, Christmas morning,
my blanket spread out, my wine
uncorked, lighting my first cigarette
before the stone that says my father,
and the tiny angel smiling
on the granite roof, and those
who have gone past their deaths
in rows up along the banks of lawns
and flowers–all anonymous, even though
I know the names of those closest,
and my sneakers are wet from walking.

Marc Petersen is a poet and photographer living in Santa Clara, CA. His work has appeared in Narrative, The Nebraska Review, The Georgia Review, The Sun, and elsewhere.

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