Worse for the wear

 

There is motion in the wind,

 

 

centripetal force of the swirling,

 

 

banking against the stop-motion

 

 

of the concrete and brick walls,

 

 

along the streets and gliding across

 

 

the face of aerodynamics, but still

 

 

a cockroach dies in the bath tub,

 

 

 

belly up, gasping and starving.

 

 

 

The wind follows its dynamics in heroic

 

 

fashion. Dispassionate children, grounded

 

 

from feeling no longer glide along

 

 

in their own centripetal forces, their

 

 

own spinning, and we are worse for

 

 

wear on their hearts, faded before

 

 

ever finished growing. Remember,

 

 

it is alright to feel elated highs, dark,

 

 

unreachable lows, it is all part of

 

 

being a human, you should know.

 

 

 

The wind will still glide sharply on

 

 

cold mornings and cockroaches

 

 

will die and be born, children will

 

 

become grown ups, and will be,

 

 

maybe, much worse for the wear.