Don't Mind Me (or: Thursday Morning)

A Poem

Don't mind the blood stain on the wall.
It wasn't me—well not much of me;
Just one lonely mosquito
Meeting her demise under my palm
After taking an unwelcome sample
Of the most positive thing about me
As I prepared for today's shower.

Don't mind the two pink longstem roses
Lying on a white dash between lanes
Here on East Main Street at 8 a.m.
They aren't marking any (known) grave,
Or mourning any loss (I'm aware of),
Just resting here for the bit between
Slipping someone's grasp and being crushed.

Don't mind the perfect still life image—
Yesterday's flowers in hot morning sun,
Vases somehow casting clear shadows.
Just a trick of the eyes, not knowing
Glass is a fluid, and light is a dance
Of particles and waves in time and space
That finite minds interpret as wonder.

Don't mind the quiet of an empty space,
Just a refuge from August's furnace.
This world will turn soon enough
And bugs and warm light and open windows
Will fade into a memory—
Just a moment that passed
Like a Thursday.