2-6 Senioritis

Senioritis

 

Helical spirals spliced into a pit bull-boxer,

Roxy yawns a pink cavernous maw,

teeth sharp as thistle thorns,

then she sleeps, twitches, dreams of chasing

backyard squirrels or a hurled leather bone

 

and seconds later all this is memory.

 

Seems my life is always past tense.

Me? A reconstruction of reminiscences

like Roxy’s yawn a moment ago—

no longer now, but then.

 

I am memory, a half-step behind awareness

stretching longer and blunter each decade’s breadth

 

as life shortens between trips to grocery shop

or physician tests.

 

The dog snores. Did she yawn a while ago or was that yesterday?

 

Never mind.

 

Advertisements