Stares

Stare is the sinewy fingers of waves leaving 
prints in the sand
and 36-exposure film with 34 prints
of gray sky and poignant seagulls.
They are less so on repeat,
thumbed through at the photo department,
burnt red skin taut on a furrowed forehead.

Is shoulder blades, 
dancing, swaying, reflecting shine from the
buzzing ceiling light,
and reminding the lover of life
then hastily flashing
to the thought of dead relatives under earth,
stale and unaware.

Is home-town lonely, 
three hours upstate on Amtrak,
head lolling lazy against the frosted window.
Eyes in the reflection, part of the murky scenery;
green orbs steady on the river. 
Step out and search the platform-greeters.
From the trunk to the side seat to the driveway,
goodbyeing the arrival of home.

Is participation and indifference,
mingling at a pseudo-dive bar,
swirling cherries and green olives respectively,
coexisting, grinning eagerly, 
sipping hope and straddling bar stools,
but leaving in separate cabs. 

Is fingertips to the living room couch
straining to find a lamp switch,
following the dim light of a distant fish tank;
drunken hunger leads to leftovers by the glow of the refrigerator door.
Sleeping Father, covered in sofa pillows,
a clumsy tiptoed retreat to an upstairs bedroom.