Street View

I felt so tragic
Today on Google Maps just
Circling the block and seeing where we met

I was making such progress
Now there's new stuff to process
Seems like it’s an imperfect art
Hope it doesn't fall apart

Falling out my body
Decade later, oddly
Clinging to the poles
Break it in half, it's whole

Judy says I’m Trini to the bone
Over the phone
We're both dancing alone

Make a list in an iPhone note
Look at it when I'm feeling low
But I'd rather write a poem
I think everything's a cult

Sometimes you just have to laugh
At the facts