Sunlight Posturing In The Clouds Poem by A.K. Cola

Hob-nob on exhaust fumes, spinning on the axle,
Wise. Yet. Resolute to absolve the fanfare from a standing ovation.

Oh. Is it absolute, older men write down their cellphone numbers
On post-it notes and reveal them to strangers like a Facebook mention?

No. He's sipping on diet cola, leaning back in his executive leather chair,
Placing his eyes about the room, contemplating how quickly the bovine died
Supporting his spine.

Air brakes applied.
Spinning on the axle
This wheel is motioning to break.

A screw loose, he jerks backward and spills cola on his shirt.

Absolution:
He had to get-up
Eventually.