Walking in the Frost By ERIKA BEAVER

Walking in the Frost

By ERIKA BEAVER

I wandered for hours out in the frost

The sound beneath my feet was a familiar crunch

Like talking with a long time childhood friend

Which reminds me of someone who is French

He is not very much like a ninja

But he does enjoy a game of Jenga

I’ve told him that is not very gangster

He agreed, he’d rather just go ganja

One day when I was feeling a lot of pressure

He told me of a time when he wore a dress

This of course made me start to be depressed

So I asked him if he had ever felt oppressed

My friend said he has always been quite free

And that made me start to become more alive

So I reached in my pocket and picked out a vile

Held it in the air and took a deep breath

Back to reality, in a society

Something that gets in the way is politics

It makes me not want to be very social

So as I walk I stare at the frost on the wall

And think to myself, what it will be like post-war

I hear a slight banging of metal pots

I wonder if they are ever going to stop

I sure hope they are cooking something raw

On my walk I came across some graveyards

Before I know it, it is starting to get dark

Dark enough where I can hardly see my shadow

The sunset is crisp, yet peaceful and yellow

I think tomorrow I want to go to the zoo

And listen to the rambling animals music

Makes me imagine a pandas fur, like silk

And wonder if I will see a monkey do a trick

One time when I was sleeping in a tent

I woke up startled, because I forgot to pay rent

So I called my landlord and asked for an extend

But he said no, and our relationship descent

As I’m almost home I see the chimney pipe

I came in, took off my shoes, content to be home and hide

I thought about the zoo, and what fun it might ignite

But right now I just want to be out of sight.