Full Circle

had been chasing the doughnut on the coffee shop counter…zooming along fresh & tied to a piece of fishing line…the carrot on the stick… the crumbs from the table…the bits & pieces left over from the crash. grew up lonely, not accumulating kisses, but learning from the looks & failures of others, finding new ways to enjoy the insignificance of existence, seeing it all as from a train window cruising by at speeds not yet registered on anybody’s radar. & those who had been the kiss collectors, those who rose, they fell, the never-look- back-on-high-school cliché rang true & suddenly, like Dorothy knocking about her ruby slippers, it all came round full circle. walking through the old home town was found to be funny, as the want to steer clear of faces from the past mixed with a recognition of the mortality which now seemed so real, when in past it was hardly ever talked about, except by those interested early on in suicide---and those that went through with it, some were successful, some screwed themselves over for life & some made a “cry for help” which more than often goes unheard. face to face with a former classmate, a friend of a friend of way back when, the absence of memory on their part seems so baffling & it makes the wonderer wonder about how much has happened in their life to shake them senseless or to shake some sense into them---either way, they have forgotten what is remembered & so rather than get the spoon & stir it up again, back to the chasing of the doughnut…back to that hanging carrot…back to the crumbs, the bits & pieces, the anonymity of the metropolis.