I Need Some Air

I must turn and go back, darling,
Though I know the clock ticks on.
There's so much that I left behind:
The cool and damp of lawns in fall,
The jagged ridges of the playground
Stones, the smell of dying leaves
Outside, and school supplies within,
The panicked sense of not belonging,
Alternating with the sense that,
Somehow, subterfuge had made me
One of them, the royalty who ruled
Over lunch room tables; cigarettes
And stolen candy, my bike's spastic wheels,
Almost rebelling, on the cobblestones,
The things which reached my viscera
Before I chose to turn away to be
Adult, and ride in cars, and never
Feel the soil or the air, or what the crowd
Believes. I pay my taxes, take narcotics,
Sleep and eat, and gently broach
Such subjects as my fellow educated
Drones believe should be discussed,
A life so numb and mediated it's not
Worth preserving, though the clock
Keeps ticking on.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 56 times
Written on 2018-10-17 at 13:17

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