My time here
neatly packed away
paid for
and forwarded,
I begin another ending.
On the drive to the airport
I count the graveyards
for the last time
Christopher counts the milestones
and makes a mental list
of all the loose ends
I've refused to tie
Ruth, strangely silent,
sits in the back
colouring her cigarettes
green with an indelible marker
Before boarding,
for the sake of a tradition
five years and four photographs old
Christopher, Ruth and I
squeeze into the booth
feed the slot a dollar
and share cockeyed smiles
3..2..1..flash--
and out rolls
an instant memory.
As I wave goodbye
I fan the memory in air
trying to bring
some colour to it.
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