Pollution On The Backseat (NaPoWriMo, Day 24)

Why is it that life is always in the back seat
Of the cars that zoom down the street
And people are just things to beat
And we can no longer stand on our feet

Is there no one left for me to meet
As I sit in my seat
And wait for the anguished sounds of defeat
For I think it’s kind of sweet

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