Dojo In the Hotel
Whack! For the 4 o’clock Mondays that leave circles under everyone’s eyes
Along with dry souls sucked clean of kaleidoscope and chaotic color
Whack! For the deeper alphabet from apples to french fries
Which loom over the small but large ones bringing only dread
Whack! For the up and out and up and out all across the stars and stripes
Whack! For the trees and the basketball which were once tangible
That now sit decaying and deflated with no frogs to scale or stars to bounce
But whack! For the shiny optimism that melts in the scorching sun
Whack! For the cold white tarp that creates the haven under peaks of grey, now gone
Whack! For constant screeching cries of ‘cockroaches in the cleaning supplies!’
And how they never die
Whack! For the car skidding off the icy road in the gone state
Sirens blaring but no one hears or remembers
And whack! For the doors that were never locked but never opened
Whack! For Future, not Past or Present
Only Future knows- knows all too well- that it is still not effulgent, will never be
Whack! For the stupidity we all indulge in when free and young
And whack! For forgetting too fast but too slow how to have fun
Whack! For knowledge of billions of protagonists walking all around
In their own stories terrifying everyone else
Whack! That bag for all it’s worth
A shiny 15.75$
Copyright © Grace Englebreeze | Year Posted 2019
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