The Thought
a thought went hurtling through my mind
like a pencil whizzes across a classroom
hurled by a frustrated student
who thinks he's dumb.
a thought that startles the brain
feels like the coldness of the
early morning pond water clinging to
every inch of sweaty bare skin
a blur here and gone
dancing away from recapture
attracting my attention
not like the sparkle of fresh snow
more like the splatter of traffic-traveled
slush on dirty windshields.
wince, squirm, laugh at the
triviality that causes discomfort
an annoying little flash of finally
capturing the recurring thought:
now
knowing
seeing
feeling
that the chance to do something good
has slipped through my fingers,
(another small piece falling on
millions of others lost and unretrievable)
and blended into the desert
of failures that I must walk on daily.
