poems & stories of
JIM HAY
4 T 2
Forty two minutes
forty two puny
insignificant
nothing much
pieces
parts
4 T 2
hunks
shards
fragments
no handles
nothing to grab
nothing to hold onto
minutes minutiae miniscule
smashed together strangers
packed together like fish in a tin
hurtling through space but no wind
smelling the same smells
hearing the same sounds
forty two little minutes
on an elevator together
breathing the same air
together but strangers
moving but unaware
no recognition
no cognition
soon to be
forty
1
1996 Jim Hay

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© 1995-2018 JIM HAY
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Last updated on 04 Jan, 2018