Bathing at Baxters

Reading through newspapers

Perused my thoughts

Pages of history, yesterday,

Now left on a cot.

Flashes of old friends

Squeezed between two bookends,

Now dead and gone,

But living on still

Pressed by time in memory

Some pages torn,

From folded corners;

Past moments carried on.

Tales of short lives,

Now retold;

Friends loved and gone,

Though only seems one day old.

Mixed with classified ads

Times remembered of the past —

Sections one through twenty,

A,B,C.

The print devoted to readers,

To blind to see,

Those dead and gone,

Metaphorically.