A circle

Itch itch scratch scratch
Legs burning, ants scrambling
A swat with the hand,
A couple catched.
Friends lying beside, talking about fatal attractions.
I look up and see trees,
A canopy.
The incessant talk and fleeting glances I don’t miss,
A piece of a toy dangling to the keys,
A cycle.
Placing it between the people I see the wheels move,
The constant and ever moving wheels.
A circle.
Unable to comprehend the need of yearning,
Wheels touch the ground,
The cycle with no handlebars riding itself to oblivion,
A fallen prey.

P_20171020_165236

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