Speed is a function
of an open road.
You’re crawling at the junction
of I’s 5 and 90: Overload!
Your powerful Maserati
is stuck in traffic jams.
His cool Ferrari
moves like overcooked Spam.
While my rag-topped Sebring,
tunes up, top down,
heralds the sunshine of Spring
at 80 mph through town.
And fellow freeway observers cheer at my hands:
dancin’ up in the air, like American Band Stand!
Vile temptress, she!/
Posting food porn photos of/
desserts I’ll ne’er taste!
When did being the/
center of the Universe /
become a bad thing?
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It brings sorrow when/
you think you can do something/
well, and learn: You suck!
If all I can do/
is pray for you, then that is/
what I’ll gladly do.
She could have dined on/
Asian noodles. Instead, she’ll/
feast on haiku’d words.
As sun’s light leaves the/
evening sky, light banter turns/
to introspection.
“Good” is subjective/
when it’s used creatively./
There’s no God to judge.
We waste our efforts
dreaming of creating, when/
we could be doing!
She sits with her cats,
and books she should have read;
Dreams of Wonderland
and stares vacantly ahead.
As the felines stretch and purr,
and the sun brightly shines,
she hears lawnmowers whirr
and the 2-cycles whine.
Yet she, with so much to do,
moves to her chair from her bed,
stores the words she’s thought through,
and turns on Netflix instead.
For $7.99 she vacates her head,
and buries her mind in The Walking Dead.