Wednesday, October 14, 2009

The overcast sky compounded

with the gloomy autumn cold is filled

with chatter about things that are

out of our control. I am back home now,

wondering What are we supposed to do

with these things? It seems lessons

taught to young men by their fathers

are put on hold. Chasing dreams is a jog

kicked into marathon gear. We hop along

quietly, worried about the ration of our air.

Riding my bicycle through my old neighborhood,

my neighborhood once again, I notice

the bags under the high schoolers’ eyes;

the way their corpse-bodies drag,

dressed in clothes that self-motivate;

their nervous and analytical shoulder twitch

fueled by the shaky promises fed -- it will be better

by the time you are where they are, their finger

pointed slyly in my direction.

I swerve home, fighting against the wind,

and, finding myself alone, in my high school room,

I laugh maniacally. I can’t stop. My eyes squint

so hard, tears leak onto my cheek.

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