They perched themselves on the balcony,
screaming for deserved relevance.
"We made you who you are."
Like back in 1996, when we wished to be
older, so we could drive to the video store.
To save the ones we love.
They planted the rocks
that lined the path
that we chose.
And we thought we could forgive them.
But they want justification. "We
were right. Now dig our masterpiece."
And dig we shall. 'Til we discover
their meaning. Their purpose. Yes,
she should be nude. And yes, there should be
more blood. But that is not their way.
In a time of compromise,
they offer none.
We should give them money.
Support. Forget what we think and remember
what we knew: The smell of pavement
in late April. Eating a melting cone
on the hood of a borrowed car. Taking
things less seriously, when finding them
deadly so. We should talk on the phone
more often. Send letters of love
when the moon is down.
Learn the art of
the sleepover.
Check closets for ghosts before bedtime.
No comments:
Post a Comment