Driving isolates us from one another
windows up, I watch the cinema of the road
of the street of the passing fields
in some cars are reciprocatory
in others are actors in dramas
of which I see only vignettes.

The woman with the bruise:
is that the mark of a cupboard door
or a fist
The man with the crutches:
was he in an accident
or surgery
The young woman in bloom:
will she realize in time that
this is her day

I follow the eye back into the
swelling blood vessels, the contusion
caused by an incident with her
foot slipping and stopping her bathroom door
in the path of her eyebrow — ouch!

I follow the crutches back to the
hospital, the setting room, the impact
in the car against the concrete abutment — crunch!

I know the young woman will spend
the rest of her life too late
trying to catch that look
the one brief flash of
total perfection that happened today
while I was the only one watching. Damn!

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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