Wednesday, January 19, 2011

(to be read as the beginning of this poem) Like...

Beige carpets showing age
my steps unearth
cross-hatched plastic glue
underneath scuttling rubber shoes,

worn thin,

Journey's through
fast food drive-ins and
supermarket self-checkout lanes
(without that unnecessarily necessary small talk)
finds me missing that almost pretty girl
(sad smile and all)
that we'll never know,
                                to forget.
as we drive away-

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