Standing atop the wood chips
The clatter of the swing chains
Drown out the chatter of the divided pockets on the playground.
My crimson lipstick
disgusts the crunchies
my work badge
repulses the stay at homers
my put together clothes and hair
sickens the sweatpant clad overwhelmed crew
my large SUV
appalls the hipsters.
My friendly indifference
attempted rebellion and
utter defiance of these juvenile guidelines
leads to nowhere.
But I’d rather be alone with everybody
Than wipe off my lipstick
And pretend to be somebody.