The Only Version by Michael Olenick

A tram speeding down a blurred narrow street
Tram by Filip Trefil. CC license.
The only version of us that remains
are the nightly replicas
that appear randomly
as my sole consolation prize.
Last night we visited a country
that was a cross
between Costa Rica and Switzerland.
After a walk through the
banana forests of Zurich,
we could not remember
where the car was parked,
and as we searched,
the streets got narrower
and narrower
and through a sunlit slash
at the end of the road we saw
our children on a passing tram.
They were somehow older than us,
and were trying to brush Lindt

off a white-faced capuchin.


Michael Olenick
Michael Olenick lives in Brooklyn with his daughter, son, and wife’s ashes. A lapsed English major, he stopped writing after college and started again following his wife’s death . . . it kind of helped, maybe a little, who knows. His work has recently appeared in Euphony Journal, Offcourse Literary Journal, and r.kv.r.y Quarterly Literary Journal.

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