The Id Grid Poem by Francie Lynch
The Id Grid
You were born with a ticket
For an ego-trip;
Languished on the axis
Of the Id Grid;
Dryed your hair with a comb
Before the vanity mirror.
That's how it was
When we were at home.
You fit many uniforms.
You never learned;
Never broke stride,
Now
You say good-bye.
Re-wind,
On slow-mo,
Review the moves
Then go.
Flip the rear view mirror;
It's bigger than you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 4:58:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
