[This should be pretty relatable for everyone going through HISS (homework induced stress syndrome).]
i am a wheel, i go around
and around around and around around and around.
crooked grooves run down my black body
like cattle brands or bar codes;
men with greasy hands tell me i’m efficient,
i’m sorry, but i’m just ugly.
have you ever showered in oil?
greasy, scalding, and miserable, i run like a dream
beneath the ass of a ferrari,
it’s more like a nightmare,
but the wheel turns on.
turning, turning, turning,
i move in circles so others can move places,
i’m sure the leather seats are comfortable.
i am tractable with traction,
submissive to speedometers,
oppressed in the midst of high octane.
i am always moving, and most times i don’t know why,
or where i’m moving to.
i guess i’ll keep spinning
until i pop.