Self Commute
I wonder what it would be like
to have a removable headstone,
to have my own portable waymark
for this ever passing world.
Stuck in heavy triadic
the road slithers slowly forward
on my wet surface.
I am the traffic I move through.
I am driven to a small park.
where children
are running around in a circle
while a stationary adult watches.
If I could, I would replant my tombstone there,
there in the center of the children,
as something for them to turn around.
It's not right
that they should all be revolving like that,
spinning around nothing at all.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
