Bad Poetry Corner, the First: Little Morons

you remember those days, don't you?
when we were like
white hot missiles shot
into the rotted guts of
Death itself

summer sun cooking our necks as
we raced around like speed-freak dogs
catching pop flies
and grounders,
or flew down Mount Trashmore on our bikes-
skidding to a stop mere
inches
before we hit the big oak tree
(or was it maple?)

it would have killed us
except that we were invincible.
we were gods.

we made snow forts, remember?
we used to hose them down so that
the whole fucking thing would turn to ice.
a palace
a stronghold
we made ‘em better than anybody,
impenetrable and deep

nothing could stop us, man.
we were Wrath.
we were Destruction.
we were Out Of This World, and we
apologized for nothing.

Goddamn, that was Fun
wasn't it?

at least it seems that way now,
now that we have jobs and responsibilities
car payments, taxes, the right to vote,
obligations to our family and friends,
dinner parties,
deductibles
and a whole lot of other NONSENSE.

And now we remember...think back and remember
being white hot
the way we were,
and however much you and I might wish to go back,
so then did
we wish
we could be where
we are now

we were.