Bitter Apple
In the city, coffee-toting zombies of the morning
pass along the avenue, a rich soup of smog and
haze. Skyscrapers stretch to block the sun, weeds
growing in the cracks of neglected sidewalks. The
ground shakes, carrying workers to the daily cubicle
of artificial buzzes and clicks as birds glide carelessly
in the parks, chirping nostalgically. Dreams are
carried out here, amongst the quick and able,
the tried and true; but those captivated by the
wondrously small, the tiny thrills of nature,
are left behind in the dust of taxis passing.