the steaming ground sporadic
calmed by balmy humid evening breeze

pungent sharp tang of *****
lifting into the air

i remain naive
eyes covered
walking face forward

my hands my maturity
but i have none

i wear headphones
the news headline flashes

businesses rise
people becoming impressive

my hands my maturity
maybe i've regressed further

i talk of trivialities
but people talk of people
talk of doing things with
people who do things

and i do not do things

so if i show them a poem
do i get a job