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Corridor

by Trisha De Gracia

Rushing past the hordes of people
hand in hand
with a white picket fence

That dumb, oblivious smile
that curve of newfound oasis
is stapled to her pretty face.

She waltzs on
right by me.



I
in my myopic haze
blink twice at the frenzy
that seems to define passion's reckless abandon
(new time)
(new place)
(and a new stretch of skin)

As she passes away
{from me}
I reach out to shake her.

Only then do I see
she is out of my hands.

12/15/2004

Posted on 12/16/2004
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Michelle Angelini on 10/27/05 at 07:45 PM

The title drew me in, because I've been in many corridors myself - some good, some not so good. The slightly blurry focus of your words, the "myopic haze," gives creedence to the reality that within the corridor, everything isn't how the narrator perceives it to be.
~Chelle~

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