Mr. Jobs and The Dots
He walked up to the ledge like a middle aged man…
Licked his finger and pushed it into the wind.
The wind mercifully painted him majestic by moving the wind through his aging hair.
As he froze and romanticized his own abilities
And smiled the most crooked wry smile of his life.
Reclamation came in an instance
When he reversed his Airwalks and moved from the edge.
This was not the sinister approach of old age.
What awaited him was not an unfortunate diagnosis.
As he re-occupied his face turning the key of a maroon sedan.
His heart inflated and beating with cocky resolve.
His pulse quickened and indifference and overconfidence set in.
He returned to his former stride.
Humans don’t have what it takes inside.
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