Poetry

Lonelymobile (Sort of a Sonnet) by Hunter Hughes

A quarter of your life at the light,
Half of mine, waiting for the green
Going somewhere, always right,
Anywhere isn’t really for me
(Most) Every day you shower,
Left covered in dirt after I get mine
Oh, poor you across a lot walking so far,
Over miles of hot asphalt rolled I
Garbage you eat,
Fills you, fills me
Class three days a week,
Homework doesn’t leave, covers me
You have shelter from snow,
Icy streets are all I know