None Too Bright

We roll out of bed, like a slumbering fool.

We brush and we scrub, but mostly we drool.

We put on our skins and adjust our wigs.

We leave our homes, I call it, my digs.

We plant our bottoms in the seat of our cars.

We pop into traffic as if we're from Mars.

We brake with force then we give it a gas.

We do nothing too cautiously, except maybe pass.

We have finally done it, we've entered the race.

We speed through life at an ungodly pace.

We are driven to live, or so we should be.

We sit pondering the future, alone but free.

We work by the hour, hoping not to be seen.

We visit the cooler and converse, not to be mean.

We end our day with enthusiasm, but alas, begin a new.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring, perhaps, the flu.