Fred Aiken Writing

boxed in by the sunlight as eyelids fold over in slow motion, rewind, freeze framed,

replay, redo, restitution sitting on the couch waiting for the call that we’re ready for you, come on in,

don’t be shy, don’t frighten easy, but look as if you do, it’s a lot sexier when you fake fear than an orgasm,

but probably less effective in the long run,

past its prime, past date, rotate, find another place on the shelf, in the back with all the other forgotten

items stuck to the abyss to be discarded at some point, one day, whenever we get around to it,

recycled into a lithium powered wash cycle rinsing off grime that never wants to leave, sit, stay, rollover for the cameras,

just don’t look directly at the lens, don’t pout,

looked scared, then smile