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Poem

Across the street, it’s hard to miss,
That fixer-upper in a state of bliss,
With peeling paint and the promise of change,
Yet one stubborn strip remains, so strange.


A sliver of blue against the white facade,
Mocking my patience, making me mad.
Each day it shouts from the window’s glare,
'Look at me! I’m still here! Don’t you dare!'


Time drifts by, seasons roll on,
Yet that tape clings tight, like a stubborn con.
As I glance from my car, it seems to grin,
A cheeky reminder of where they’ve been.


“Hey there,” it chuckles, “You can’t get rid of me,
I’ll linger long after your eyes cease to see.
Through rain-soaked mornings and windy nights,
I’m the ghost of your dreams, your endless plight.”


Oh, that darn blue tape, a sly little tease,
Swaying in the breeze like it’s out to please.
Haunting my thoughts, a perpetual stare,
It whispers sweet nothings, “You know I’m still there.”


So I’ll watch from my window, my annoyance will grow,
As the blue tape chuckles at the show it bestows.
With each passing day, it holds me in thrall,
A testament to patience, or perhaps to my fall.


But deep down, I wonder, with each fleeting glance,
If that blue tape’s a mirror, a twist of fate’s dance.
For in its stubbornness, there’s something profound—
A reminder that sometimes, the little things confound.


So here’s to that tape, in its stubborn embrace,
A nuisance, a jest, a peculiar face.
For life’s like that blue tape, it lingers and waits,
Reminding us gently, that sometimes, it’s fate.

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