A poem about managed expectations
AS IF JAMES DEAN
As if James Dean drove through treacle,
we make slow progress on this dull strip.
Over and over the sun taunts us
as it plunges at the precipice.
As if Batman took the bus to Gotham City,
we are never there while the heels are hot
and fidget awkwardly in clueless rooms,
As if Love was drawn roughly
on a breath steamed window,
we are left constantly in cold buffets
to sugar harsh coffee with endless spoons