She smelled like bubble gum
and humanity burst back into vision
when I passed her.

I’d been browsing license plates
like self-help manuals
and shaping my shoes
against the concrete carpets.
My vision was dull black
the birds sounded flat
for the third time in a lifetime
I’d asked for plastic at the local Countdown.
I was resolved to stay sane
but only for the lifetime
of this lithium battery.

She
smelled like a bubble burst carried by wind
on a warm afternoon in October.

Sounded
like a lawn mower
kicking up grass hoppers
under the setting sun.

Like my father, asking me
to pick up apples
from the miniature orchard
so he could mow better.

She, like a bubble, expanded and
vanished,
leaving humanity
letting it linger.

 

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