As the price comes to 9.95,
I am questioned about marijuana and cars;
If I smoke as fast as I drive.
I want to laugh and say,
"If I could only be so fortunate
To get my satisfaction from an outside force."
But my inner cynic reminds me
That I have to give 5 cents change,
And that certain boys will never stray.

I spend a few more minutes
Being witty and debating mopar vs. chevy,
Nothing cute, nothing special.
I am drawn like liquor to flame
To these half-witted creatures.
My mind settles into the crevices of their conversations
And I search for symbolism in their CD purchase,
When in doubt, stereotypical lyrics cool the angst.

I drive home, my mind mulling over lust and affection
Intermingling the two like raindrops.
If only plants and machinery could cure my mind's
Never ending process, then i could be less fleeting,
More entertaining,
And less like a summer storm.
But, the radio is never as attractive as lightning,
And I sadly drown in pop music and terrible lyrics.
My ache for true satisfaction never dies.

12/01/2003

Author's Note: inspired by my mind's obsession with over analyzing my body's fleeting emotions.

Posted on 12/01/2003
Copyright © 2024 Beth K Hannah