A Spring Breeze

If I were a camera
I would track a single blossom
As it wafted upon a breeze
Past green vistas
And the world’s people.

Instead, here I am
Sat within a boiling car
Five cars behind
The beeping crossing
At least we’re twelve ahead.

If I were the breeze
I would make the leaves rustle
Be it the fulsome spring song
Or the dry rattle of autumn
I would play with nature

Instead, I choke upon fumes
And the smog of impatience
Of the Toyota pickup
As I tip tap the dashboard
With my rhythmless fingers

If I were a good man and it a good breeze
I would watch my painted doll
Do her eyeliner in the mirror
As it played with pink petals
As the cute girls swish on by.

Alas we are neither
And my day rests upon the breeze
Long flowing skirts
Hint at the bottoms beneath
Wry eyes and nature’s bedevilment.

If I was that singular God
I wouldn’t have needed to
I could look the other way
With a smirk of foreknowledge
And predestination.

Give me nature’s merriment
That playful pirl
As it lifts up swaying skirts
Inverted cyclones of piffle
And white panties, lacy, nice buttocks.