Winging It

We’re just two birds flying home
Now that the day is done. Not
Those people in the car, worried
About groceries and dinner; none
Of those at the traffic light, hurried
Across streets by horns and shouts;
Even those young ones, open-haired
In flashy shoes, happy to be out
Of classes, are not us. We don’t gaze
Out of train windows, stiff on shared
Seats; we’re not among the excited
Faces on various selfies and tweets.
No trophies await us for battles lost
And won. We’re just two birds
flying home, now that the day
Is done.

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