At the Tire Store

The salesman's practiced patter
And the din of tires being mounted
Proves too much. I want to leave.
This isn't my crypt-quiet home. It
Isn't as my workplace is: large,
But sparsely populated, calmer than
The chaos here. I guess I don't get
Out that often. Daily life as many live
It, crowded, rushed, above all,
Noisy, agitates and wearies me. I
Hope I won't soon find myself immersed
By it again.






Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 29 times
Written on 2023-11-16 at 21:00

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Yeah, I know that feeling. You’ve translated it into verse well