We

We are the decent people
Roaming amidst all the confusion
Of a daily ritualistic, stomach-knotting
Tilt-a-whirl.

We are the aging youth
Pushing forward back the nostalgia
Of a fading memorial bliss-like
Memory game.

We are the learned folk
Expunging the perpetual ignorance
Of a money-soaked, letter-laden
Go to the Head of the Class attitude.

We are the agitated circuits
Pulsing rapidly through wires
Of a frayed, short-fused
Erector set.

We are the scattered lot
Swirling around the habitat
Of a technicolor irresolute, option-filled
Crazy straw.

We are the smiling clowns
Laughing resonantly among the paths
Of a trodden, forever-aged
Kickball field.

We are the wild-eyed kids
Soaking in the lessons
Of a devouring, marble-lapping
Hungry-hungry Hippo.

We are the present tense
Living dreamingly the imagination
Of an oft-played, well-ingrained game
Of Life.