A Year of Poems – Day 218

Screens change every second
Mutable, shifting, careening
Around the spectrum of color.

We drive with reckless abandon
Never pausing at the overlooks
Never stopping for a picnic.

Food comes in at one end
And sits with us until
Thirty-five hours later

If digestion shows any indication
Perhaps we were designed to picnic on overlooks
And sit for a week contemplating two to three colors.

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