And The Oscar Went To
by Mitali Perkins
At the end, your name hovers
like a half-orb on the horizon.
It's not aflame like the noonday name,
dazzling with glare and heat and drama.
Once it was new on the scene,
fêted with an ovation of birdsong.
Now you can barely hear the sizzle as it melts into the water.
People glance at their wrists and move on.
© Mitali Perkins 2008, all rights reserved
Photo courtesy of cybertoad via Creative Commons. Find today's Poetry Friday Roundup at Simple and Ordinary.