As paper turns an autumn leaf, Plastic spills into springtime grief. Pale sun leaves cold the paper rooms As a flap-crackle, white-clear flower blooms. ***
Once, on a night last April, I got very drunk. And I woke up next sunset with a fuzzy picture, memory of an unknown...dizzy grin, and red lips, and staring eyes. I took my keys and drove the car slow, and inside Casey's General Store I floundered, wild, searching, hoping I might turn the aisle corner and stumble upon some way out, some sort of impossible miracle that could erase what I'd done. Instead I spent $3.76 on a pack of gum and a chocolate milk, and the wrinkle-crinkle sound of the plastic bag drove its nails deeper and deeper into my hangover the whole way home... *** Yes, plastic is a midnight rain, awake And suddenly, with the thunder's roar... A flash of her cool, tanned hand sliding over my knee And to myself: “Please, don't remember any more.� So paper pain and plastic fear Two circles to complete the year In parallel, they never touch
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