Band-Aid

Around my finger

Fabric and flesh together

It will be okay

Air

Filtered and sterile
Air needs to be conditioned
How it’s meant to be

Driblets of cool sweat
Flexed and contracted muscles
A perfect machine

Could be a minute
Or could be half an hour
Don’t freaking judge me

Famous for your heat
Maybe just for once you would
Like to be called cute

Round, red, fist-sized fruit
Or some say vegetable
Maybe fruitable?

Green and blue, mother
Mountains and valleys, mother
Dirt and sky, mother

Above all of us
In your ivory tower
Who stands above you?

It would appear that
Each one of us are rich in
Our own common sense

Exploded timbers
Scattered on gardens, playgrounds
Splinters, fat and thin