Campus
Timothy Sturis

She buries herself
In a coffin of clothing,
The shroud of her own conformity,
Hiding who she is
To everyone around her.
The only glimpse inside,
A bold swatch of leopard print,
Glaring in the midday sun
Says more about her than
She knows.

The white Rastafarian
His dirty dreads bobbing as he walks
Dancing against his too tan skin.
Does he want to believe in something
From another culture, another world
Or does he just like reggae
And weed?

All around me
The shuffle and slap of flip flops.
Sloppy shoes for lazy people
With no more ambition
Than to make it through another day.
Wherever they are going
They clearly don’t plan on running there.