I used to be cool, really, I was. Way back, when it mattered, but things are different now.
Not sure why I care – not looking for popularity anymore, I’m just here to survive.
Maybe it’s to feel normal, inclusion with the wide-eyed quacking flock,
swimming as a group with no direction like feathered bumper cars -
waiting for Life to show up on the bank & launch torn pieces of leftover bread.
Now I watch from the back while the flock fights for each morsel, drawn closer to the bank with each toss.
But that’s OK, remember, I’m old.
I’ll take my chances on the far outside edges.
I happen to know the guy throwing the bread –
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