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Objects in the Mirror are Closer Than They Appear

My grandpa loudly swore while I
watched what was behind pass by.
He drove intently through the years
now gone, each with an alibi.

I drive those curves every July.
Cragged canyon walls still amplify
ricochets from shifting gears
and uprisings from my mind’s eye.

A question from my child: “But, why?”
How to explain life disappears
like approaching objects flash past mirrors?

Each of us will somehow try
to hold fine days like souvenirs --
cobalt or dull, what’s next appears.

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