Can you bray like a mule on cue?
Light a fire with sticks among dew?
Re-surge and rebuild anew?
Is it hard playing a role for the few?
The few with the judgemental laughs
and the palms that slap on carpeted
boards you tread ‘til you’re red in the face.
Remember all of that noise?
How we lapped it up in haste and with poise?
How we leaned on the walls with the girls and the boys?
How the ground was a bed and the
stars formed a halo around your head?
Those lean-to, makeshift, roadrunner
stripes were all that mattered.
Like a firefly in daylight, we stopped mattering.
Can you run past that hill with no shoes?
Race you around the clump of bamboo!
Cry into raging shampoo?
Add all of that to the list we must do.
There’s a ticking and I can taste the rust in those hands.
It seems miles over my head
and that nobody will ever understand.