Reflection
Written and Narrated by Chris Giovacchini
California
In the store window
The image is not the one
In my mind,
Somewhat of a vintage,
Of once younger wine,
Of more worth perhaps,
After some years in the cellar,
Wiser, after worrying over
Chart tables in subtle ruddy
Glow,
Stiffened from labor, trying hard,
Shoveling gravel in
Other people’s yards,
Inevitably came the wear and tear,
Wind burns made the face mature,
Glinting into salt spray’s seasoning, and
Running on Red Bull, eventually takes it’s toll,
The countenance in that
Reflection, couldn’t relent,
For the physical endeavor,
Posture is slightly bent,
Woe, for the uneasy marking of twine,
And sounding of sentient depths
Reflected there too,
As are journeys afar,
Exotic bazaars,
The weathered look, winks,
Managing a slight smile,
A little surprised always,
Of the wear on the tires
Being Autumn
Written & Narrated by Chris Giovacchini
California
being autumn
observing the process,
losing control, no control of,
only the illusion of,
in the cloudy mirror, the image takes
a moment to register, gray muzzle,
chlorophyll vanishing to fall colors,
the pliable venation crisp,
avenue of inevitable atrophy,
senile skin,
at the window, a witness watches,
tired leaf surrendered, floats
to its biological destiny,
all-knowing, receding,
ahead, on top, forgotten,
cast to be a photo on a grandchild’s bookshelf,
at the helm of some Zen moment, of some adventure,
focus fading, cataract blur, metamorphosis, then to now,
inner cowboy resigned, his rope is falling short,
he lights a Cheroot, bravely,
in refreshing the faded plastic flowers at the headstone,
we remember the stories and exploits of the smiling sepia
tone face depicted there, the laugh, clever thoughts,
outlook, their being and doing, loving and laughing,
maybe the afterlife, like this life, depends,
as Egyptian conjecture supposed, on being
remembered well, and not forgotten