Orion's Belt, high in my car's window,
Has three stars in it, almost aligned.
Mine has lots of holes
And my seat belt is barring access
To the tissue in my pocket,
Leaving my nose unbloody but unblown.
I think, as I sniffle and squirm,
There is metaphor in this grotesquerie
About my life and its people
Who and how they were secure
Unhurt but undone,
Safe but sorry.
Bernard Goldhirsch lives in Springs. He can be reached at [email protected].