Froggacuda's Weblog

I am all alone with the drip of a faucet
in the next room, the kitchen,
making flat high pitched noises
in the silence of midnight.

I embark upon a poem,
thinking about my future.

There’s no one here
in town;
I’m still college-bound
because of my set of friends.

My parents are moving
farther and farther away;
in distance and in age,
and I’m no longer laboring
under any guise of golden adolescence.