Like a scarecrow he stands there,
His legs bow backwards,
Only a tad,
And he ponders what the air would taste like,
If we could all sing the song of rising suns,
But in the corner of his bloodshot eyes,
One bead of blue forms,
And it ran down his cheek,
Onto his arm and off it,
To land on his black jeans,
Whose threads were so tight his feet felt fuzzy,
But he did not care,
This was the pair,
She kissed him with.

The salty ocean air bit his ears.
He went inside.
And slept.

*It’s just not fair.