My Mom goes harder than I ever will; I guess I got it from my momma (posted with her permission - 1 beer deep for mama):
The wild ones.
The wild ones are wandering over bicycle lanes and lines and glaring at the foe in the cars’ side mirrors. Stay close: the hard and white maze is a place to get lost, lacking scent or a legible trail.
Elders nudge their young ones, could be traps in the big white block with the glass eyes.
Quieted, they gradually turn their faces toward the block, which is making feeble and irregular wheezing sounds, like an old animal about to die and bequeath itself to a tree.
They draw back, all scenting the oxygenated air and twitching their ears.
But nothing comes their way, and hoof by muddy hoof they move forward through the illusions of straight lines.
Citizens are moving, too,
Hemmed in by unbarbed boundaries and behaviours, by orders,
Every day walking on winding pathways that were formerly judged as just time spent, or as time spent watching devices totting up counted steps taken toward nowhere,
with no accounting of elemental wilds.
But today is different. Today the blue sky feels infinitely deep and the blossom perfect enough to break a heart.
And then there was the man in his French blue jacket
Trying to figure out how to fill out the form stating for what “essential reason” he had left home
Because the only reason he could give was the truth -- that every day he goes to the cemetery to lay flowers on his beloved wife’s grave.
All this even as we leave behind our sundials and careen into unmeasured time,
Exploring how to be ourselves without mirrors, counters and untruths.
(Funny factoid: I had to explain to my Mom what a "trap" is and why this works so well for the forum)