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Click hereThe black rubber strip
is whipped and flutters
in a random pattern
from the driver side windshield wiper.
I am distracted by its motion.
Distracted away from rain water
patterns smeared but not cleared
from glass. Distracted from
harsh inner accusations
"should have had this fixed
last week." Distracted away
from the ache of you, gone.
The strip flutters
then flies onto the highway.
Hard plastic pointless.
Still, we go through the motions,
imagining it matters.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 36,000 poems.
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and especially since it is your first post.
I like the idea and can visualize it. I woudl only suggest a bit of rearranging of the lines, would make it a bit stronger.
otherwise, I enjoyed :)
keep up th e good work!
maria