Glare Of A Fox

Just some distance.
So the heart will become more attached.
As it awaits destruction.
By fire, ice, by your mother's little helper.

It is the saddest thing.
This tree we created, its fruit long gone.
All limbs and bark now.
Here come the girl boys, then the boy girls.

They all look the same to me.
Ear buds and screens, deliveries and likes.
The common women.
Like all the other ladies, poor and pouty.

Full of credits.
Pride and vanity conspire, windows wide.
Cool breeze coming through.
Strut of a local, glare of a fox.