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Poem
Rear view mirror

Objects, objectively put, are  closer  
than they  appear. But it doesn’t say it all. 
With the fair signs that spewed  forth once turning to
a slew of  pre-twitter  pseudo- tweets since.

 I once put it down In form Octa-Tri :
 In rhyme scheme:  aab, bb, ccc .

(“  At the wheel 
At night. Uneasy feel. 
Narrow misses, though, in nobody’s midst.

Rows of reflectors mark lanes glaring through the mist, 
Comforting  coolness and sultry night coexist .

Cell service zones change, ding-dongs the phone
Heart fluttering alone
Night unknown”.)

A row of  earthy  images it failed 
rather than showed ,images  with  eerie  
 librations and weary nutations  .Which 
was not  Physics,  but physiognomy of  life.

Like when bashed  by  kiddy badasses  and  
basic arithmetic, or when up higher ,
combative but  math a behemoth 
all the same, and  guided perfunctorily
 often, and rarely with the right intent.

In  the  peccadilloes- round,  the  Tintern
 Abbey Sycamore also loomed dour sans 
creativity , but the three trees on 
the low sky  made sense , and then on to  
T.ds. equations and tedious times 
 soured by  sleep and steep sloth.

Ingenious in fair measure , now turning 
ingenuous on the proving grounds , after, 
 in the space of a couple of cusps of 
light and sound   mom was  no more  and we  
whimpered  and  simpered under a dad who cared 
 but did not seem to,  in  his straight-faced  mode

Then  came  falsely  flashing ,  faintly  fuming ,
 slapdash  years of machines and mega hertz,
 eggs and vegs, sex and senescence to remain 
for ever weighed down by the wayside whey.

Bringing-up-kids-banality apart
 ( fed mainly on meds for just cough that recurred);  
 preferring  palm-frond’s loftiness  cum  
deprivation to  urban  up-for-grabs  
benefaction;  and the mess of docs, deaths  
and a mossy crock of living pain since.

And all the dicey way , never  patted 
but  p(f)anned; tweaked , untweaked ; harmed, ex-harmed; 
 banked on , debunked ;  short-changed, sort-of-changed ; 
lumbering on , alive and a-slumbering  
and if anything  wondering if it’s
 not  all  the mirror’s prim fault 
which never once showed my face.
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