Brief Blindspot - Poem by Tony Jolley
She wasn’t exactly labouring
Under the lop-sided load,
But ‘listing’, rather;
Her frail fingers paying the price
Of having the temerity
To wage a Wednesday afternoon war
Against the god of Gravity.
Through the lens
Of a vacant stare
She might once have called
She appeared motionless:
Between the here and the hereafter.
Then she was gone:
Lost to that brief blindspot
Between rear-view and wing mirror –
To become the bent back
Of a fast-fading memory:
A memory of someone.
Someone I’d never know.
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