Blowing bubbles

Annette Marie Hyder

I walk behind
trying to catch your words
but they are like soap bubbles
and burst as I touch each one
while the new ones continue
to lure me forward with their
gleaming sunshiny dazzle.

I’m looking for something to be in them
maybe Glenda the Good
or maybe just a trinket or a toy
like the kind you get from those gumball machines
but all I get is
one after another after another
the burst of emptiness
followed by the residue
that makes my fingers slipperier for the task
of trying to grasp
the bubbles you keep blowing.

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