i am not the racer of my youth,
the girl driving over handicap parking signs
in lot full of old cars

with wrecks and misjudgments
dangling from the rear-view mirror

cruising back roads
and running from cops
that didn't like when teens stopped in abandoned houses

they were living there,
having left parents who could never condone
living in sin

no electricity
and no means by which to live fully

but they always had people over,
drugs and booze
and sex without protection
sex without any resemblance of love

they laughed at everything,
their teeth falling to the floor;

they'd pick them up,
dust off the dirt
and slide them back inside

we'd gather around
as if some force was driving us to never leave,
some force by which the moon became invisible

we would drive around in my car,
my guilt for laughing at their expense
too thick

and my knowledge of how well off
good intentions could get you
never came into play

this was their choice,
i told myself,
and how dare any of us rip it from them

i still wonder where they went next
once the city had the place torn down

they didn't want any help;
their parents called me once
only to say they would pray for us all

i can't even remember their faces now,
but sometimes a silhouette shows up in my dreams

and i wonder how people with nothing
could smile more often than me.

06/07/2009

Posted on 06/07/2009
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