I have a lot of trouble noticing
what's right.
When I'm busy trying all
the doors and windows on this porch,
I don't tend to notice
the beauty of its stately columns,
the graceful way these rhododendrons
peer over their balcony
to watch me in my fruitless quest:
white-haired matrons
with pink opera glasses
trained on the stage
of my immediate drama,
waiting for me to stop and breathe,
gasping at the inappropriate content
of my frustrated soliloquy.
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