Detritus

Not given to unicorns and eloquent language,
my melodrama is fueled with common things:
more bad news from the media,
a baby possum murdered by the cats,
the shattered precious wine glass from a dwindling set.

Friends fall like drying petals from a bougainvillea vine,
      the world grown more cruel 
           not only from the brutalities of age,
                         but by the decisions of short-sighted power-brokers
                                              throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

                (The choice of that inelegant, time-worn phrase
             the result of too many months of isolation—
            giving up first the makeup and the hairbrush,
             then the bra,
                 then the bother of digging
                      for the perfect unique metaphor.)

Cities of books and projects                                    
started but not finished,
albums full of photos I mean to scan,
pile up on tables                                     
  and the floor.                                    

                         Bougainvillea petals
scattered
over the terraza
                                                        by the still-laid table,
                               obscuring tiny shards
of delicate glass.

Click on photos to enlarge.

Prompt words today are eloquent, unicorn, media and melodrama.