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August 23, 2008
Through Binoculars

The sky of tress-tousled clouds declines
above a backdrop of geometric overlays
on the silver river and a pier incomplete.
Through binoculars I can read the sign
on the guard shack and see the hunched
guard within, all those stories down.
The lenses sweep back and forth along
the ancient stage of the downtown street
where shadowy men pass before my gaze,
strophe and antistrophe. Afloat through time
they mime foibles and lapses, in postures
of lassitude and rote distraction, enact
the human condition with current props:
cell phones, palm pilots, Ipods, laptops.
Relieved from work the men hurry from
offices toward pleasure, making plans,
reciting directions into tiny devices.
Slowly I pan upward, training the lenses
on the close blaze of noiseless waves,
the darkening coastline, illegible smudges
of ferries and barges, to the silent shock
of a sail blade at my throat.

Posted by Jane on August 23, 2008 6:00 AM
Comments
Both old and wise and cutting edge. I really enjoyed it. Incredible photographs. There was a news interview of a man who was wrongly imprisoned for something like 18 years. He was asked what surprised him the most upon re-entry into the world outside. He said, "People walking around with telephones."
Posted by: Anonymous at August 25, 2008 9:23 AM


