seven tiny minutes

at the first he was struck by the realm of choice
and all it had to offer it was grand and nobody
really cared which fruit went into which basket
and all was good

but after a time the fruit became scarce
when there were a lot memories to be formed
with a wildness only really experienced in movie theatres
and when fishing and grampa failed to catch anything

the trees were swaying and the leaves were speaking
there is sound beneath the wind
it is calling out her name

but he was doing something else that day

spraying the weeds in granda’s garden
said silly things that would offend
even a slight sensibility

she ran off crying over that bend
last chance for him to see her again
he chuckled to himself as boys are prone
shielding himself from the inevitable drone
of insects flying above the clouds

the mistakes he made as he took over the
reigns meant nothing but triviality
the mistakes he made as he fumbled in the dark
looking for keys he had locked in the car
the mistakes he made missing out on family events
and all for nought and all for an end

like a soldier in a war he walks
through the dreadful mess they called
cleaning up
he looks at his watch
with its bent hand
and wonders why he
still has to wear it

the dreams that passed him
clouds of smoke dissapate
under the cruelty of his grasp