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Below is a work by Tom C Hunley:

The OBGYN said babies almost never
arrive right on their due dates, so
the night before my firstborn was due
to make his debut, I went out with the guys

until a guilt-twinge convinced me to convince them
to leave the sports bar and watch game six
on my 20-inch, rabbit eared, crap TV. After we
arrived, my wife whispered, “My water broke”

as the guys cheered and spilled potato chips
for our little dog to eat up. I can’t remember
who was playing whom, but someone got called
for a technical, as the crowd made a noise

that could have been a quick wind, high-fiving
leaf after leaf after leaf. I grabbed our suitcase
and told the guys they cold stay put, but we
were heading for the hospital and the rest of

our lives. No, we’re out of here, they said.
Part of me wanted to head out with them,
back to the smell of hot wings and microbrews,
then maybe to a night club full of heavy bass

and perfume, or just into a beater Ford with a full
ash tray, speeding farther and farther into
the night, into nowhere in particular. Instead I walked
my wife to our minivan, held her hand as she

stepped down from the curb, opened her door,
shut the suitcases into the trunk, and
ran right over that part of me, left it
bleeding and limping like a poor, stupid squirrel.

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Is this a good line?

...that could have been a quick wind, high-fiving
leaf after leaf after leaf.
 
 
 
How good is the end? Specifically this:

...And ran right over that part of me, left it
bleeding and limping like a poor, stupid squirrel.
 
 
 
Here is another work by Tom Hunley:

The OBGYN said babies almost never arrive right on their due dates, so the night before my firstborn was due to make his debut, I went out with the guys until a guilt-twinge convinced me to convince them to leave the sports bar and watch game six on my 20-inch, rabbit eared, crap TV.

After we arrived, my wife whispered, "My water broke," as the guys cheered and spilled potato chips for our little dog to eat up. I can't remember who was playing whom, but someone got called for a technical, as the crowd made a noise that could have been a quick wind, high-fiving leaf after leaf after leaf.

I grabbed our suitcase and told the guys they cold stay put, but we were heading for the hospital and the rest of our lives. No, we're out of here, they said.

Part of me wanted to head out with them, back to the smell of hot wings and microbrews, then maybe to a nightclub full of heavy bass and perfume, or just into a beater Ford with a full ashtray, speeding farther and farther into the night, into nowhere in particular.

Instead I walked my wife to our minivan, held her hand as she stepped down from the curb, opened her door, shut the suitcases into the trunk, and ran right over that part of me, left it bleeding and limping like a poor, stupid squirrel.

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