Your Poor Huddled Massing

Saturday morning music.

10 am.

Middle school side street, the drop off point.

Swarms of buzzing children.

Parents carrying sax and violins.

Cold blue sky.

Toyotas and Mercedes, minivans and Mini Coopers.

White knuckles on steering wheel, tucked to the curb.

Wide eyes.

And I am yearning to shatter  all those windows.

I am yearning to be free.


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