Trying to figure it out.
Sitting at the kitchen table
trying to figure out what I have to show for all these years of living.
Mind ponders, and I peer across the sitting room.
Peer out the window
through hazy sheer
where
propane gas cylinders stand side by side
all sage green and rusty red on a truckbed
beautiful to me,
shocking white cautionary flammable gas warning and all.
All is quiet, and I sit,
seized by the irony
of a life-sized still-life not wholey unlike my memories:
forty-six years of foggy recollections
caustic
and beautiful.
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