I wonder looking out at
nothing in between the
cracks of old sidewalks
left alive, a few withered weeds.
and where are you rushing too
oh that you were clouds and free
from toil, from seeking the spoils
of the wars that cannot end
and pretending you have friends
when all you have is coworkers,
whatever that means.
and will you glean from the tv
the latest magazines the
books on tape that reprimand whatever you can
make of your life you can.
you raise your hand in class
and the teacher passes over you
to those who have not answered yet
and you'll forget what you learned there
except for the unrelenting stares
of those who figured out
you weren't like them.
but let the fairytales without end
unspool themselves still
in your strawberries and cream
or what is living for.
mary angela douglas 4 march 2016