DOING 70
A Passion Play
In memoriam Helene Dorn 1927–2004
ACT 1
On the Mass Pike, at the first rest stop past
Boston, the starter breaks. The lights and radio
go on, but there’s no click click. It’s six
on a hot, humid, summer Saturday.
I’m headed to New York
with a file box of letters in the trunk.
What could have caused this?
Overheating? I’d only been doing 70.
The cashier calls three times for a guy
who appears at last with doped- up eyes
and writes down a number.
The man on the phone says
Look for a truck, but it might take
twenty to thirty and if he doesn’t come
call me back.
A pattern? A portent? Well,
a second chance.
I start right away for the car.
The box of letters is heavy every
way. Thirty pounds, four decades,
two women. One dead, the other
stuck. Fuck.
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