The FAB&PP Poem of the Month for September 2015
we concentrate
hard
on the past as it
whizzes
by
[yeah,
it
does whizz,
or
buzz, or
sing
like a cicada]
forgetting
temp
orarily where we
are (thank
goodness) and
ignoring
the
future
[for
which
we are at
least
prepared]
we dredge and
dig
and whisper
to ourselves
"this
can't
be"
no
it's
not
what was now
whizzing
dissolving
into
distant
murmuring
and leaving
us
before our mind
can ever catch up