Pink Thongs

There comes a moment

when you swallow

what you always knew

but aimlessly brushed away

like mosquitos circling with truth

in the summer’s heat.

 

All dreams will not come true

expectations will not be met

experiences will not be realized

hope has boundaries.

 

You cannot help but tally

that which can no longer be

and possibility floats away

like a kite from a small child’s hand.

 

Passion isn’t everlasting

relativity tempers achievement

whistles are hoarded for youth.

 

Colorless granny panties

strain to cover life’s bulges

mocking firm buttocks

dressed in pink thongs

and horizonless futures.

 

Laura Black