Taking Flight.

Courtesy of Pixabay.

I often elope these days,
Creaking the back window open
And jumping as lightly as my years allow
Onto the weedy flower bed.

Gretna Green is so far, though,
And my resolve peters out
When my hitching thumb proves useless.

My hips grate, rather than grind,
And the thoughts I was escaping from
Begin to seem less insufferable
Than the devil I don’t know.

And lately, I’ve noticed,
You’re waiting for me at home.
Where were you? I ask,
Pretending you’re the reason I came back,
Not the reason I left.

Another write on the theme of ‘the Mind’.

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