Transient


We make friends on plane rides and in waiting rooms,
A mayfly that lives, breeds, and dies in a day,
Taking a scrape of our painted exterior,
Giving our varnish in moments away,
Leaving us natural, naked, and raw,
Paint peeled and fading, weathered and worn,
Lives like a pauper–ready to mourn
Or ready to laugh at this strange seeming flaw.

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Because Russ L asked

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