Wednesday, January 22, 2014

pine needles

old crunchy snow
gray and translucent
beaten to a pulp by the
snowboarding shoes
of a thousand bros

their plastic beer cups
sloshing in the beams of a cold mountain sun
their snazzy reflective shades
glistening and hinting towards their arrogance

i walk past and try not to grimace
i don't fit in here
snowboard culture is somethin' else
i get it, sorta
but i feel as though
they've cheapened the snow
they've monetized and corporationized
the mound of snowflakes
that only wants to sit and be stared at

But who am I to judge?
I am just a whimsy artist
with not a sporty bone in my body
so go drink your daytime booze,
go gallop around the forest
and pretend like you understand the trees.

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