Crash

Wading through traffic,
I keep watching the girl driving
the car behind me.

She has the full pre-cologen lips
late middle-aged women
pay dearly for,

more fake color on her cheeks
than she needs, a full-face
bright-white smile.

Her phone is attached to her hand,
at every intersection she strikes
a pose,

each time offering a different angle
to the camera, smiling bigger
after posting/sending

than she did for the lens. I can not
help but speculate whether she
sends the pics

out to the world or to an audience
of one, an act of vanity
or courtship?

Either way, I fear
she is heading
for a crash.

Perfect

There are things
which remain perfect,
provided
we always
remember them as they were…
not what they become.

.

A Shadorma for the image at the Mag

It Seems Like Yesterday

It seems like yesterday,

and a long time ago.

It wasn’t so long so as to make

the date insignificant,

but long enough so as to no longer

interrupt our schedule.

Not long enough to erase the pain,

but far enough back to contain the tears.

Distant enough for a politician to forget the cause,

and a people to allow it.

A part of history where blame is now debated,

catalyst and facts contested,

criticism of the slayers scorned,

mere mention of motivation attacked.

Detached from current culture enough

to justify funding their allies

ignoring their evil

and negotiating with those who cheered.

Long enough ago to pretend it could never

happen again.

Far enough removed not to occupy every thought,

but never so far as to make it forgivable

to forget.