lace up your sneakers and roll up your jeans: your jeans
are blue and worn in the knees because they’re your favorite
and the laces on your sneakers used to be white but now
they are tinted brown from the dirt of the earth you walk through.
you step outside and take in the the scenery around you:
weak tangled trees and rusty parked cars line your street
and you breathe in and feel the crisp scent of leaves
and car exhaust in your lungs and you know
that you are home.
you take a step down the driveway:
your mouth still tastes like mint from the toothpaste
you brushed your teeth with and your bookbag on your shoulders weighs
a ton but you keep walking forward toward your car
that you bought on your seventeenth birthday.
you sit down in your car and start the engine: your favorite bracelet hangs around your wrist
and catches the light of the street lamps and shines and the cd player blasts
the same LP by The Smiths that you took from your dad two
weeks earlier and you instantly begin to bob
your head to the sultry beat— you love when you know
what to expect.
you back out of the driveway: the air in your car
is chilled and makes the hair on your arms stand
straight up but you don’t turn on the heat because you’re busy
dissecting the mysterious language of Morrissey and pondering
what your life would be like if you were just a little more
like a dream. But ideals will always just be ideals.
and maybe you do wear that bracelet too often,
but what else are you supposed to do?