I grew up
wanting to be laconic,
because my models
were mostly Saturday
matinee heroes.
Their voices were
leathery, dust-covered,
wind-blown, spare
sounding voices.
I dreamed of my own
young voice becoming
like theirs, joining
those deep voices,
saying deep things.
But laconic?
Tried it. Liked it.
Some. Found it lonely,
though, on those long
rides between words.

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