m&ms487

The Changing Time

They come FLOODING out of the Buildings: It is time.
I.
I see the small people Scramble
Hating the cold burning the Inside of their Noses,
Hating their own body for turning against them.
I need a tissue, please!
My nose is spurting inappropriate mucus!

II.

There goes one, Huddling inside his hood,
Like a turtle, afraid the air, the atmosphere
Will endanger him.
Perhaps he's right.
With the smoke stack only a few hundred feet away,
And a thousand [probably more, I'm bad at estimations]
Cars; Rolling into the parking lot
Who would want to breathe this air?
It's not a choice.

Maybe gas masks will become
As popular, as fashionable,
As carting around 16 ounces of water
In dispensable plastic bottles.
I firmly believe:
We make our own Destiny.




III.

There, Another,
Her pants are screamingly PINK!
I'm sure I can almost make out a shirt that SHOUTS:
KISS ME I'M IRISH!
When I bet she's more French than anything,
She can't even hold her own beer.

IV.

Now just a few Remain,
Wandering, Aimlessly,
But with Direction in Mind.

V.

Now, all are gone; They've scurried themselves
To their destination: to their destiny.

1 comment | You almost always pick the best times to drop the worst lines..