Acceleration

Poem by Noah Hubbell

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What got left behind when we raced?
I was a car without mirrors, backseat,
or seatbelts, I would speed
to not fall behind, but I left
 
my favorite bear when we moved.
My trading cards and colored marbles, the plastic city
where I raced toy cars and good guys got married,
I left them. I was anxious to blossom
 
like my mother promised I would, but
a flower cannot accelerate the sun
or will the wind to move the clouds.
 
I grew up in the plastic city
with friends whose plastic smiles
were well-intentioned,
but a plastic man does not know
 
what he is made of until he sees
real flesh. What happens then
when the cars accelerate?

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A Master of Science, but a lover of art, Noah Hubbell is an insomniac poet from Denver, Colorado. He finds joy in complex philosophy and comfort in simple living. Currently, he lives in Aurora, Colorado with his partner, Claire, and their Labrador, Pal.