When the day squares off neatly:
No flex in the coating.
No chips or cracks,
Nothing to catch in my breath;
Why do I find myself here,
Where a smile grates?  

When I connect to the grid:
Fumble through smalltalk,
Have a pint or two,
And learn my place (in that order);
Why do I find myself here,
Where the panic waits?

When Spring cuts the chill:
A simmering sun inhales the frost.
Fog retreats to regroup
As stoats skitter across busy back-roads.
Why do I find myself here,
Where pressure propagates?

Maybe my perception is warped.

It's sometimes warmer here,
(where a smile grates).
It's sometimes safer here,
(where the panic waits).
It's sometimes easier here,
(where pressure propagates).

Maybe I'll stay a while.