Vignettes I

There is a man furtively trimming
branches off his neighbor's shrub;
branches that stick-out a bit in
front of his gate, probably
COMING just this close (if not actually
brushing) his car’s -- he's the kind
who waxes and shines his car, and
stretches a sort of whole-car-bra
over it (his car) when he's away
from it for more than a couple of
days (which gives a clue, maybe,
to any attentive potential burglar
or car-thief as to the unoccupied-
ness of his house) – painstakingly
maintained paint-work. Though
the paint is immaculate, you can
tell from it alone that the car is not
the latest model; that is, whatever
your lack (or otherwise) of familiarity
with the stylistic evolution of the
Polo, the car is a green from the
days when color photographs were
printed on paper and kept in book-
like albums, or more commonly, in
the little paper folders with a
pocket in front for holding the
"negatives": those black and deep
(nearly as deep as the black) amber/
orange plastic strips of ghostly
miniature images of your 4X6es, and
stashed somewhere at the top
of the closet or under the bed, to
be dug-out and "gone-through" when
you're moving away from home,
never to return (you) with any
enthusiasm or happy memories,
except for those preserved on the
photos you didn't throw away (and
now, though, they're happy-tinged-
with-sadness: almost so tinged that
they're really sad-tinged-with-dim-
wistfulness memories) – which
photos have become themselves,
like your faded memories and this
man's Polo that must absolutely NOT
be touched by that shrub, faded. But
this gives you pause: is it that the car's
green is from another era -- like your
eyeglasses – or is it just faded? Is it,
i.e., a color of a different kind from the
greens of today's cars, or has it ceased
to be an accurate picture of the car's
color when the car was new? But then,
what about your memories?