Where does the time go?

Really.

Do you think about it?

The answer remains shrouded

I picked up a book today at the library titled 1920

The cover was in black and white

We use filters on our i-phones these days to achieve that look

Isn’t it funny

And then I held a book about World War II

I wish I could say the photos and stories weren’t true

I saw books about Richard Nixon

I saw a blur about MacArthur

On the higher shelves were others: Washington, Kennedy

How will people remember me

I was born in 1988

I saw a patient yesterday born in 1935

I wish I could know what’s behind her eyes

I thought I’d never see June 1^st, 2007 – my high school graduation date

My dad is almost 74

He’s still invincible to me

Who’s keeping score

The older I get the more I see

Around every corner is tragedy

My husband says we’re at that age where people start to die

My friend’s parents, my parent’s friends – drop out like flies

We’re featherweights

As generations change

Do people ever change

What’s our fate

I’m standing in a library

In some sense it’s a cemetery

My generation’s books are being written whether I like it or not

As the sun moves in the sky a little

The kids across the street in the park giggle

What things have we forgotten

I stood in here a year ago

Reading about history

In the newspaper by the front door

There’s a picture of me

The lines beneath it say something – what, I’m not sure

But I hear all the characters in the books whisper, “Make it better”

Time is consumed

What does yours produce

We’re fast becoming history