FWG: Relative Size

Sat in the dirt and muddied my jeans
And didn’t care
Wore holes through the knees
And didn’t care

Carved pathways in the dirt
Streets and driveways
And parking lots with little twigs
lined up as parking stones

Tufts of grass became trees
Houses and buildings only vaguely imagined

Arranged all the matchbox cars within the network

No racing strips, no pile-ups
No hot rods.

Just sedans and vans and pick-up trucks
Moving faceless citizens about a miniature village
Perfectly civilized, slowing down to turn the corners

Where the grass became dense,
This was cottage country.

Playing cars on a Saturday morning there existed only Saturday.
Monday with its morning bell and its lawless incarceration
So far away it did not exist.
Monday morning might just never come.

Took the little jeep and kept on driving
Patiently trekked the breadth of the yard
Inch by inch, and then
Broke the ground for the next village.

Today I have only one car
It encloses me
And takes me where I’m told to be

Now I am the faceless one
In clean respectable clothes
With Monday mornings always looming over me

How was it that cars
Became so much bigger
Or am I just that much smaller?
.

Photo courtesy of Eternal Exemption.