Idle

Stuck at a red light,

Breathing in my own exhaust.

I don’t want to go.

They should call us the

“Idle Generation”, cause

It seems stagnant here.

Economically,

Emotionally,

Not figuratively,

But literally,

Draining, as I stand

In this uncertain future.

I think of moving,

Anywhere else than here,

Tho my feet are stuck

In the mortar

Of stiff indecision;

I suppose I’ll just stay here.