A Bleb in Time

The bleb lurched, a startled shake of realization avoided.
Rotund time slipped a giggled hand over face whose digits touched the floor.
It is tarmac and cheese for lunch again.

Yes, that thought of paving intended to smooth and simplify
Clumps clumsy clinging knots of gravels roll spent neglected
To the sides of the thinning road.

Smooth idyll of back seat play and rolling signs
Streams to a halt fighting to control the wheel
Ripped by the intrusion of dirt, an untravelling rock—a hole.

The wrinkle of every careen duly noted in rows of suddenly attentive eyes
Is it left? Is it right? Is it over the side?
Whatever the turn, your hands are seen transcending the story in reality.

Curriculum Map

Twadling vision rises above a brow.
A wrinkle casts the form.
One scraped toward together
Another held, meld, thought.

Sudden prance patter path feet
Reaming patterns into retrospect.
The intended thoughts for them find random dust broken.

Planned lessons fall under reality
Only an inch glimpse of the known holds.

Day after day the patterns are re-tooled.
Patience.
The sound of thought carving concept drifts on.

Tinkling clatter, a shear surprise,
An adult student returns accidentally.
Roaring trains freeze.

Both overlook into the past
Ah, the common bit remembered from two sides.
It was not a science.
It was not a math.
The child remembered the man and kept the thought.
Growing, the picture remained in the shaving corner fading.
The new man liked moving the picture.
The old man smiled in surprise.

The trains roar on.