Form and Splash
At the town pond
I overheard a family’s
“Judge my cannonball!”
the more corpulent son implored.
Obediently they all turned to witness his jump from the raft.
Arms grasped knees in mid-air
but the splatter was lackluster
and waves barely disturbed the glassy surface.
The crestfallen kid knew the verdict–
good, but far from perfection.
In a moment of nosiness
I consulted his folks:
“How do you recognize
excellence in a cannonball?”
The skinny brother pleaded the Fifth.
The dad acted as if the question was never asked.
But the mother clarified in testimony
awash with broader implications:
“Form and splash.”
Let’s face facts:
She prefers the memory to the event itself.
Surely experience is
but a prompt for remembrance.
Truth be told:
She wraps up sensation
only to feast on it later.
The nerve to claim that one is living in the moment!
As if a sudden bleat is preferable
to the cello of retrospection.
Lets keep it real people!
After all is said and done:
Yesterday will always superimpose itself
like a transparency atop an overhead projector.
To put it in a nutshell:
When the past and present wrestle,
the former inevitably maneuvers a half-nelson.
Consciousness itself craves reminiscence
and today’s novelties become tomorrow’s nostalgia.
Let’s be honest:
She has been working on her memoirs
from the get-go.