A Seemingly Normal Friday Afternoon
Poem By Lori Boulard
The world took an evil spin
on the way to the hospital.
Slow moving elderly became spoiled
and ill. Children mere reminders
of the future pushing relentlessly on.
Clocks now irrelevant
grow feverishly still.
A well-dressed woman rushes
out of her Buick, shiny
patent leather spikes stabbing hard
on concrete, oblivious to life
hanging fragile in the air
between her heel and the street.
I never gave a damn about a pool.
Or the titles, income, or the house.
Never hesitated over a long
flight to Asia, a third glass of wine,
or what the neighbors might think.
I do, however, mind terribly
that I am here and you are there
and there is life and death
in between, though we may
never realize how many times before
we have been here
and not known it at all.