Hills Like Hot Air Balloons

From the hills Looking down over
The coastal plain Hot air balloons
Chase the sun Upward,
One hell of a show
For the motorists
Who for a second
Stopped caking
On make-up
And didn't think
About Starbucks and
Simply remembered something,
Sequestered,
From youth.
Perhaps life has
Much more substance
Than a morning commute.
But a cell phone rings.
The sun wins the race.
And the gears of capitalism
Turn in marked rhythm,
Punching in the time clocks
Until the health insurance
Won't cover the costs.
Perhaps life has
Much more substance.
I long to know.