after the local police station decides to put a limit
on the number of suicides that can be committed per year ,
i hold his hand as he listens to the lady on the other end
of the receiver inform him that the quota for this year is all filled up .
when he hears the news, he puts the phone down
without saying goodbye and we sit in silence for awhilec.
outside our window in the city ,
it is dusk , and our neighbors’ lit windows float like lanterns
in the middle of a dark and unforgiving sky .
as the year passes , he seems to be adjusting well .
he no longer practices writing out his suicide note
in both print and cursive . there are times
when all we do is just listen to each other breathe ,
and that is enough effort for one day .
things seem to be looking up .
but when the new year comes around , frosty and young ,
he takes his driver’s license and method of choice card ,
then packs the noose into a sealed plastic bag
and walks down to the government building
to wait in line for his turn .

Sometimes I find it amusing
that all our ***** laundry
is aired out on two webpages
for all to see, if only they
could connect the dots.

But then, this is far
from an ordinary clothesline.