Report Blog Entry
I am the fat friend at the skate park waiting.
My idols drift effortlessly on wheels;
new tricks, new resilience.
While I internally scorn my thyroid.
A front door that never fully closes.
The troll has finally left her bridge spot
for good.
Although, yet to evolve from
the occasional shower
and yellowing teeth.
Dot. Dot. Dot.
Unsuspecting victims hold their breath in
anticipation; preemptive caution.
Until the three circles settle on
a return address
to the dent on her forehead.
The straight edge dad
with an obscure vinyl sticker collection.
Bike, bottle, baby, all covered up completely.
What’s he really been up to these days?
The park’s now empty.
not due to any intrinsic successes.
Nope.
they just found a nicer spot
with all consuming shade.
A series of smeared kiss prints on the cheek,
a slow montage of the day to day,
ignoring indefinitely what grows
despite cement paved.
They roll by
with more vigor
and less fear.
You are not in the backseat anymore.
a frighten dialogue bubble of
“no’s” and “stop’s”
until finally he is finished
with you.
Remember the springtime burrs?
Tangled inside a once neat braid.
The continuous points and laughter;
even children knew better than to like you.
elementary blacktop then
adult pavement now.
“Grow up!”
Shouts the lady with a bull frog
perched underneath existing tonsils.
Shut up and listen, goddamnit.
she’s been at this whole life thing
a lot longer than you have!
I guess I need to refocus
on countertops and ceiling fans.
Domestic opiate; where your finger
draws opaque on sturdy surfaces
and you can enjoy it’s all surrounding,
circulated air.
Comments
Displaying 0 of 0 comments ( View all | Add Comment )