to ve - read most of your postings on this site - enjoyable and highly evocative thought you might 'relate'/find the following of interest - regards zaj
No longer children
They speak in bytes
of rock and metal tunes.
High—schoolers hard and durable
as new age hi—tech plastics.
independence with rap
verses blared through
bodies excited by a new message.
Where “Green Eggs and Ham”
was titled for another age.
Another time of adolescence
when girls looked like boys
and boys looked like girls.
Before the explorations of self.
In classrooms where the wonder
of innocence wasn’t changed
until they began to think
of sex of sex of sex of sex
of the sex of their lives.
How it is so especially confusing
when physicality replaces guiltlessness
to swell deep inside.
Ready to burst from breasts
the colour of chewing gum pink nipples
that boys no men no boys
fixate on in fantasies.
Crop tops and baggies worn low
that leave little to imaginations
fed by internet on—line chats.
Where minds are captured
by violent games and tongues
are studded to connect lyrical passages
of childhood in moshpits outfitted
in FooFighter tee—shirts.
Because everyone will be connected
by technology, the new religion.
Where anything seems possible
on VCR stop action freeze frame
rewind play it again and again.
Images indelibly etched on minds
aware that cool was hip and hip is retro.
This is an existence where detention
doesn’t matter because
“everyday Is a winding road”
on diskettes while we wonder
“where have all the cowboys gone”?
Which echoes an older generation’s
asking for a hero like Joe DiMaggio.
And attention is always given
to a solitary kiss. .
That will get you a partner.
Someone you long for or desire.
Even Tom Cruise or Leonardo
or PamelaSue or Yasmeen.
While Tupac is in the past.
And the artist formerly known as Prince
is just a forgotten person
and not a brand name of wiggly macaroni.
Served on lunch plates
In standard cafeterias where
the middle—aged gaze out at
a changing sky of clouds.
Traveling without moving
that on alternate days
rains desperation onto lives.
Struggling in seats.
We sit a few feet apart
where the need to show our uniqueness
drives a Honda Celica low—rider
to shouts of “be chillin’ muddafucka”
in every thought and sentence.
We all await weekends
that go by all too quickly
in broken battles of vodka
and beer blasts running
through teen—aged minds bored
beyond belief by adult blatherings
of repeated irrelevant rules.
Laws arbitrarily enforced
by those who have ages of money and power.
When you can claim you never inhaled
in a world of rules
where the elders rule
merely because they have lasted longer
than concepts of traditional marriage.
Ignored by gangs of teenagers
smoking trying to look sullen and menacing
In defiance of societal guidelines
posted on packages or boxes an movies.
A commercialized world of TV ads
in between real life when daughters
sometimes hate fathers and sons resent
mothers for divorcing themselves from wanting
what they thought they loved or wanted.
Cast aside with traumatic affect
by a society putting a premium
on beauty or athletic prowess.
Unwilling to endure an everyday existence
where languid limbs trail scarves in winter
trailing dejected leaves like Isadora Duncan
waiting for the strangling world to finally end.
Where self—absorption is embarrassment
and high—voltage CD lyrics flows through minds
at decibel levels which could drown out the roar
from the takeoff of the Space Shuttle.
Where click—and—go TV sets imitate
the table hopping In fastfood joints.
A culture where the more people you can hang with
confers a form of momentary status.
And being cool is to die for.
Even if it means stealing a box of cigs
out of your mother’s private stash.
Or painting your nails black
or having your flesh pierced to gain attention
when you never have enough money
to buy an outfit or the glasses you want
in a world of materialistic frenzy
which abandons you in malls
where anxiety is the common denominator
for the misery of growing slightly older.