By Tom Mach
The memory of my life
is only a movie I can understand.
All the rest have on blinders
witnessing their own show.
Some eagerly want my seat
if only to escape the futility
of their own drama enfolding
while the rest of the audience eats
the stale popcorn of indifference.
Still, we must wait for the final curtain
to see if anyone has left the theater.