Control

Control is the rusty metal bar in Middle School gym class.

Your hands gripped around it,

Your feet dangling in the air.

Your friend beside you laughing, asking who can hold on the longest.

But eventually both of your knuckles turn red,

Your palms rubbed raw.

One of you will let go first,

But eventually both of you will grow tired.

You’ll hear the teacher’s whistle calling out,

And you’ll both have to surrender to gravity’s weight until your feet hit the ground.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s