you sit there jiggling to the music
buried in your old collar coat
chair slouching to a rapid beat
only your neck whip-lashing complaint

a son of an engineered father
lessons learned behind thick glasses
lost and leery in a dark venue
worrying that snow showers threaten

a life in limbo rushing to escape
just enough time to ‘peg down’ a genre
artificial is a thorn in your philosophy
as you took flight in fear of winter

-cec