Poem of the Week

when on the fourth of July, I bought

California Flowers to celebrate

the freedom of youth.

That night, from the front seat of my friend’s Mustang,

I lit one, and threw it over the roof,

toward a group teens styling different,

leaning against their black cars.

The firework arched through a rolled down window,

landed at some girl’s feet and went off.

space

It seemed like a good idea at the time,

when at thirteen, I raced by my sister

on my mean green machine,

my bike edging hers,

proving my manliness.

A cattle truck pulled out onto the road,

scaring her, causing her to turn,

ending in tears, blood, and meshed metal.

space

It seemed like a good idea at the time,

when I scaled the outside of our stave silo

to prove how fearless I was,

my cousin standing far below.

I climbed head long into a wasp nest, let go,

fell to the concrete blocks below.

space

Now removed from the idiocy of my youth,

I sit with coffee on a Sunday morning

leafing through the paper, reading

how business men and political leaders

just never grow up, and believe

it’s a good idea this time.