I watch birds go from power line to power line,
The morning dew trickles down the window,
One two three houses go by,
Purple with orange trim,
A unique peak,
Avenue, street, road, drive,
A new block,
All the homes look the same,
Thin,
each with an identical shed,
Holding mysterious treasures,
The colors change,
Blue, purple, grey, green,
They are all the same,
Now you are sitting with your legs crossed, the left over the right,
Ankle high socks,
Pink earbuds,
A restful face,
Unaware of any surroundings,
Engulfed in music,
Sorry for staring,
Graffiti is scribbled on the back of the pleather seat I front of me,
Not quite legible,
With every speed up and break of the pedals a Danimals creeps away under every seat,
The radio blasts outside of my earbuds,
Clashing with my familiar music,
The same songs play over and over,
Rap that was popular 5 months ago,
Tune it out,
You can't tune any of it out.
YOU ARE READING
some bad poetry
PoetrySometimes I stare at people, oops. I don't really want to publish a lot of these, many of them don't make sense, even to me, and I'm not the best but whatever
