It drifts through the quiet house
in the aftermath of the party,
suspended at neck level
by the unseen and halfhearted
currents of stale air.

It seems a lonely, aimless thing,
half-dead already -
a depressingly elastic red
against the grey
of returned normalcy.

How brief excitement,
cheer,
it's use
lasts.

No longer new enough to burst,
it is capable only
of fading,
forgotten until found once again,
wrinkled and underfoot.

01/17/2005

Author's Note: A memento mori, if you will. A LONG time getting this one somewhat solidified. Topic from Joe Chiles.

Posted on 01/17/2005
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