You're a mess

I like to sit in the back of pickup trucks

And wave my arms around

I like to feel the wind in my hair

And to pretend like I can fly

 

At last we reach the field

I have bugs in my teeth

And small trees in my hair

She gets out of the passenger seat

And looks at me with a grimace

 

"You're a mess," she says, nose in the air

I just grin, and shake out my hair

After a full days work

We trek back to the truck

 

"You're a mess," I say, looking at her

"The only difference between you and I

Is that I enjoyed life, every bit

While you let it pass you by"