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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 10, Number 2, June 2016


Jonathan McKeown
Sydney, New South Wales, Australia


rain on the café window
still as buildings

On route to the job I enter the Harbour tunnel and begin to descend. Perhaps it’s the caffeine or perhaps going under puts me in a subjunctive mood: what if a bomb exploded and part of the tunnel collapsed engulfing us in our cars in the deluge . . . cars like bubbles . . . water pressing at every window . . . separated . . . each from the other, in front, behind, beside, each imprisoned in our own capsule, with someone else, or alone. Death imminent and certain as it could possibly be with maybe only minutes or seconds . . . What if I make one last call . . . would I get through . . . or go to her voice mail as usual. What would I say. Still driving I catch myself mentally rehearsing the message I might leave my wife, my daughter, my other . . .

the light at the end . . .
please leave a short
10 second message . . .



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