Anaphora

He would have had four pairs
            of bowling shoes this Christmas: one
from his mother, one from his aunt, two

            from the troops of friends he bowled with weekly
in both cities where he lived
            last year, the last


he lived. And would have worn each pair—
            each shoe alone a long oval
asymmetry the other shoe


            undid—with denim pants
and denim shirt the years of sweat and sunlight
            had worn soft. He’d bowl a spare
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