She wasn’t exactly labouring <br />Under the lop-sided load, <br />But ‘listing’, rather; <br />Her frail fingers paying the price <br />Of having the temerity <br />To wage a Wednesday afternoon war <br />Against the god of Gravity. <br /> <br />Through the lens <br />Of a vacant stare <br />She might once have called <br />‘Resignation’, <br />She appeared motionless: <br />A metaphor <br />Hanging <br />Between the here and the hereafter. <br /> <br />Then she was gone: <br />Lost to that brief blindspot <br />Between rear-view and wing mirror – <br />To become the bent back <br />Of a fast-fading memory: <br />A memory of someone. <br /> <br />Someone. <br /> <br />Someone I’d never know.<br /><br />Tony Jolley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brief-blindspot/
