PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The droning on of small town daily life

A collection of people wanting more

Wilting wildflowers in a drought

punctuated by the occasional brief shower

Enough time in between to forget one

before the next

It goes on with the monotony of

A game of ping pong.

Not a competetive showdown, a test of skill

But four blank eyes locked in a bored, tired stare.



To add to the excitement, actually lack thereof

(Too unenthused, even, for sarcasm)

I am but a spectator to this idle passing of time

Denied even the simple stimulation

of a game no one really cares about.

I'm done pretending to cheer.



Sighing, I sit, body unmoving

as my eyes follow the little white tease,

the reminder that there isn't a tennis court

in this whole damn place.

back, bounce, forth, bounce, back...

When a player misses, I observe,

It is not caused by misjudgment, poor depth perception,

but by the way their eyes finally

zone out, glaze over, and unfocus.

Lost in the dead heartbeat that is

the rhythm of the game.



When the sluggish ball

slowly rolls off the table and lands

by stationary feet

The unaffected player comes to,

Retrieves the thing,

And life goes on.

back, bounce, forth, bounce, back.



How sad that I await the day I can be this

empty pattern

In my wildest dreams, daydreams,

(what's the difference)

I envision a state of the art tennis court,

Freshly painted lines and all.

Watching the athletes eagerly chase their desire,

I get the invite.

My turn is finally here.