Holidays

Baby singer-songwriters
wailing
about
heading home,
and I'd
go.

If only
any somebody
who knows
might
tell me
the way.

'Cause I'm
flailing on
the fringes
and failing
to
see
or
seek the point.

Parking lot
conversations
and
second hand smoke
and
I'm
soaked to the skin.

In
“I wants”
and
“might have beens”.

Sometimes all
I can do
is walk away.

While the
screams
fly
silent
behind my
pleasant smile
and
I
while away
the time.

Wishing I could
sing
about going home.

12-19-08
Written last year, not totally relevant anymore, but true just the same.