Squinting eyes remind me
of AmberVision infomercials.
Forcing two quarters into salted slots,
I press my eye-bones
into over-sized binocular mask.
With the spit-shined view of sky-line
dropping calligraphy against azure,
a reflective moment finds me
imagining Polaroid flashes
lighting up our hotel corners.
As the timer clacks the last rites,
the scope closes her eyes.
Drawing back from concrete lodging,
those bars that imprison small children
call out my attention span.
Leaning over orange-chipped rods,
I make saliva walk the plank.
You always seemed to despise
my habit of spitting over railings.
And some just toss salt for good luck.
Adding your comment:
*..excellent write, even including the rather messy habit! Good luck in this contest.
