In the dream of recycling day

I am noting the trick of keeping in touch, have nothing to worry about but the 'remember-me-always' note on the back of some senior portrait, a clack of thong sandals down Pleasant Street's long hill outside the parish where we were baptized. I still rub oil in the shape of a cross on my chest at the first sign of a cough coming on, and follow the collection trucks as they recede toward the corner then gone. 

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