School children are rushed aside from
speeding trucks and their cargoes of hard men
hurtling towards a cryptic sign at the end
of the road where man's burdens are sordid.
I sit in a corner of a block far away
where the Klaxon rings home my delusion
of freedom, or sends me forth to task or wait.
Freedom is lost to me. Once boundless hopes
of youth now fettered with age and bad choices.
I've since learned what I was never taught to me,
I know now that children are less than free.
-dp-
11-15-82 / 2-25-13
formally "At The Corner"
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