Miss Brooks on a night
before a snowstorm
her bob and her bangs

She never really found anyone she was so busy being Herself
And now she forever dies in the lap of a murderer on Christmas Eve

My legacy…? I’ll go back to taking my son to fencing when this play is over – my last for years. And I’ll be a dim name recalled increasingly less frequently in the high school halls – that weird guy – taught Brecht. And I’ll maybe be “your grandfather” to a kid I’ll never meet.

But if there is something after, you’ll find me where Louise might be. Having coffee on any given morning.

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