repetition

each day goes by like an amtrak train
every train carries the same people,
the same silver luster,
the same logo, the same track, the same conductor.

i sit at the side of the tracks
as they hurry past
clicking and clacking at extreme tempos
feaster than a hummingbird's heart beat
or a bumblebee's wing.

i wake up each day
with smog in my brain
and sand in my eyes.
i'm heavy and weighed down
like a sponge full of water and syrupy dish soap,
so i trudge down the stairs - 
the one part of my day that is slow.

the shower is only comfortable when it's hotter than a summer rainforest
but the steam goes into my lungs and i can't breathe
so i make it fast.

then i swallow my breakfast whole, practically,
and then zoom to school.
i scrawl words onto papers
which will prepare me for the inch-thick tests
which will prepare me for life
which will prepare me for death.

i gulp down a chicken sandwich and some chocolate milk and some watery yogurt.
then it's off to civics and speech class
and then i'm home
homework and studying occupies the cubicle of my mind
until i find myself turning off my light again
and letting my mattress engulf my tired body
so i can repeat the day again tomorrow
and every tomorrow after that
until i graduate
into a life of even more repetition.