Wednesday, August 27, 2008



Rustle Rustle..
In the grass.
The soft wind
Blows across the soccer field.

Hurry Hurry
Cry the kids.
The warm air
Stinks of some stupid guys cigarette smoke.

Puff Puff
The man huffs.
The hot ash
Falls to the ground to meet the dirty squished butts of his brothers.

I'm taking a poetry class this semester. I wonder if bad poetry still gets an A for effort.

We are only in week 2 of soccer season and already people are trashing it up. leaving Gatorade bottles littering the field, flicking butts all over the parking lot. Little bags of chips fly around in mini sidewalk hurricanes. Then they go home and scream at their kids for leaving a wet towel on the floor. Seriously?

My car is always messy but I don't mind. It's messy because I pick up the trash they leave behind. But not with a Nifty Nabber -ahem-. Nothing drops from my hand to the ground. I take it home and toss it in my recycle bin. It is probably the simplest thing I do all day.

No comments:

Dear Paper Cup, - Free Blogger Templates - by Templates para novo blogger