by Shaina Clingempeel
For the sake of stability,
I’ve let facts and figures sink in.
Staining my skin with trivialities.
For a worn-out common dream.
For a mid-life wine and dine.
Vapid talks with respectable robots.
Old colleagues of mine.
Proud owners of cookie-cutter houses.
With fine professions to discuss.
And lives void of significance.
As they converse in insipid tongue.
Drowning in the spotlight.
From a passionless existence.
Longing for something to sing about.