Day 258 – Oranges for Sale

I know, except for the mustache,
the man selling oranges could be me-
always one bad decision away
from tearing it all down.

I put my hands on the steering wheel
and stow away my mind-
my eyes don’t dare to show him how hard
I’m wondering if it’s his fault.

I wonder if he takes his blame
like I would blame myself-
or has life taught him too that we’re
just glass things on a shelf.

And when he looks at me
does he see someone who could fall
so easily, come tumbling down,
someone who’d break,
no one at all

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