“It’s just a rough draft,”
he said with a laugh
but the joke is half epitaph.

I know I’ll regret it
this helping him edit
his thesis, this knife,
that will cut through my life.

Somehow, it’s become real
this part of the deal
where my dear Dr. Peter
will vamoose from our theater
where I’ve acted like I could go on
when I return next year, and he’s gone.