Look alikes

My old family photos;
little, black-and-white,
white-bordered circus
fun-house mirrors

the reflection peering
back at me is not a true
replica; more a police
artist’s puzzled rendering
of what nine different
witnesses describe as
the same bank robber

I look at me and see that
someone else staring back
in a very clear-cut case of
not-so-mistaken identity

Done

The past can hinder
it can hurt and
taint today and your
tomorrows

the past can’t paint
your life in colors
that you can feel but
that others see as a
much different shade

the past can be the
cross you bear
the hat you wear
a welcome companion
or unwelcome intruder

the past lurks, watches
sometimes smirks,
smiles unforgivingly,
frowns with displeasure
can be coolly detached
cockily taking the lead

the past is just like you,
only finished

Dalliance appliance

Open the door and the light comes on
but only when you open the door

Illuminated are the remnants of the
recent past (some not so recent) the
leftover bits and pieces, scraps and
tasty morsels with which you can
construct a spontaneous, piecemeal
feast, a light lunch, or default snack

fresh and climate controlled

not always what you want, when you
crave something else, but not sure what

Disappointedly you close the door on
available options, and the light goes out

At least in theory

In the refrigerated warmth of the heart
there is someone who is a jar of gone-bad
mayonnaise; a condiment to your life,
sparingly used, forgotten behind other jars
goes with little, modicum goes a long way

not a main course, not even a dab of tastes
better-when-reheated homemade stew

bon apetit.