I see you sometimes,
in the grip of a stranger –
careering through life,
dancing beneath his fingers,
and each time, I freeze -
a rabbit in your headlights.
You’ve gotten done up -
some new shoes and gaudy bling
and the dents I left
all pushed out and smoothed over.
I do wonder, though,
if all the problems beneath
– the whines and the groans,
the niggles and the grating –
have really been fixed
or if you’ll break down and stall.
Like you did with me.
In the turning of a wheel
we come full circle
– you down your road, me down mine –
passing wordlessly;
we’re closer than you know, in
a roundabout kind of way.
Roundabouts
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