One, still in late September,
Has his upper body bared to the dying sun.
A tattoo speaks hatred on his upper arm.
Needled deep into his flesh.
Another sits astride a racing bike.
Expression defiant, resentful and absurd.
He too has hatred but is not quite,
Sure who or what to hate.
So he snarls at everyone,
And at everything, thinking of the
Lies to tell himself, that everyone
Is fearful or snarling back at him.
They sit or lounge determinedly.
To show their independence and,
The bleak assertion of their rights.
Damaging yet more, shop-soiled and damaged egos.
A moment or two before the kids come out;
A car drives up, discreetly,
At the back, not too near to be seen,
Nor too far not to be observed.
Not to far to be missed by children,
Half afraid, but daring still,
To show their cool by purchasing,
A quantity of blow, to blow their minds.
Of blow to make their friends gasp,
In admiration at their daring and their skill.
To blow their cares away with happy, dirty dust,
Of death, to settle on their senses like a blight.
Blighted lives made dull by pleasure,
To fog reality and a life not yet even lived.
Oh how independent, how strong, mature and cool!
How the others must envy and admire.
Take what you want at any time, but pay the price.
Your soul, your body, and your life,
Not yet even lived, denied the opportunity,
And the chance to choose, to learn and to love.
The kids go home, bewildered some. Determined
Others to reject the teaching of their elders, themselves,
In disarray, minds bending, strained by needs, by wants,
And by the searing cries of empty, yearning hearts.