She drives past.
That Hip-hop car emitting a mixture of,
Gold, Confidence, and sweat of third world country workers.
The sunglasses, over-priced, Prada or Coach, marked on the arm,
Who knows which?
The two pound dog, which she calls baby, but treats like a doll.
The essence of superficial.
She throws the word love into the air.
It travels over the invisible cellular lines,
Almost reaches her man-toy of the week,
Of the day.
But is intercepted.
I hold that word
Meaning nothing in her hands
But oh so much in mine.
Author notes
wrote this on a taco bell place mat.
sitting in taco bell
Comments
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ah yes, poems written on random pieces of paper in fast food joints are usually the best ones. XD
this was an amazing piece of writing and i definetly enjoyed reading it.
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wow
taco bell huh? hehe i luv you.
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