Potholes

I am a chunk of asphalt

adrift on the side of a worn down road.

Bloated by the evanescence of seasons,

bleached by the ubiquitous sun,

I absorb the world around me.

In time I will burst,

belching pebbles and dust into the gutter

of this rutted back-roads. 

You expect me to exude emotion,

you expect that these countless hours of erosion have given me

something to give.

I simply exist.

I float above the days and nights, a piece of existential flotsam

battered by time.

You are left feeling broken, and I am amenably disintegrating. 

My expression is changed as dusty tires knock my features askew,

but I only participate passively.

I simply exist. 

And that is all I do. 

I wish you would exist with me. 

Reviews

[FJ Davis]

Perhaps the "me" with whom you wish to, at least, exist will eventually cause you to set your sites considerably higher, young man.
"Potholes" is a stunning piece of work.
Impressive, Ben.