Plato’s Kitchen

While sitting at the kitchen table eating a pear,

my lazy gaze drifts to a window on the back yard,

with its leafy canopy still greenly shading patches

of scruffy lawn highlighted by autumnal midday sun;

and then, through a trick of light and glass, still

looking toward the back, I see, mirrored through

the dusty panes, the view from the picture window

roughly opposite, facing the street, and thus the

texting drivers, the creaky rusting pickup, the runners

and stroller, and the walkers of multiple dogs

pass as phantom figures crossing reflective air,

so close, yet untouchably distant, un-smelled even by cats.

 

Copyright 2014

T. Allen Culpepper

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