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In Stark Morning Light

Uncomfortable as if caught naked 
before an open window within an 
unflattering light I hurry down the steps
 
My hand curls hesitantly around
a flaccid roll of newsprint, loose 
within a faintly discolored wrapper
 
Inside, almost furtively, I pull off
the clear plastic cover, gingerly
drop it in the trash, wash my hands
 
Yet the limp paper is just as sticky,
thickly damp and hard to decipher,
souring the taste of morning coffee
 
I stare off, faintly sad as I hold
history's residue, for even though
the facts remain, the memory fades

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