A square, grey and chain-made-smooth,
Planted across the street in
Organizing your room.
Rain comes as dancing-thieves,
Chattering away the triviality
Of everyday shoes, and everyday cars,
And everyday whos coming out of the bars.
Pissed like the wind.
Those wee wet widows run across
The clumsy surface, like gulps of hope
On a Friday evening; taking away
Everything that they see.
A child, running away from a game. Happy. Until the mother came with tidings of dos and don't and words running from her skin and self into that largely indescriptive chaotic verve onto the shelf like a small plastic smiley face.
Just waiting for the right time to break.
I would wonder in many places
And about many things,
Like people staring when no one cares.
As if it all came back to squares:
Just like you and me are
Just like me and you.