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H Edgar Hix


He did not put his phone on "unavailable."
Didn't put his email on "out of office."
Did not put on his coat,
sign out at the front,
notify his supervisor,
his secretary,
his wife
that he wouldn't be home tonight.
She could cancel the casserole.
His work could be transferred to others in the department.
It was actually colder inside than in the snow.

He and his briefcase left,
went to the Mall,
went to the restroom on the 2nd floor,
took out his penknife
and slit his wrists 24 times.
Twelve times for each.
All neat, straight lines.

The lady at the Mall,
the one with the mop,
appreciated that he put his hands between his legs
so they could just flush his blood down.
She didn't need to disinfect the floor. 


H Edgar Hix is a Minnesota poet whose work has been published in Waterways, Paper Crow, Right Hand Pointing, Mutuality, Priscilla Papers, Time of Singing, and black bear haiku.