where's my suitcase
Looking for a bed to lie down in
the cabin full of panic
To the hobo stationary distressed
destitute awaiting addiction
Life is travel i's about moving
he moves to survive
Out of the rain and into the big building
Where curtains and charity open to him
He asks...
Where is my suitcase
yet it's right there under his legs
people run intto the building
to avoid the late night rain
Oh the frantic people in a life of no exits
Heslop the dirty octopus
salivating on the correction notes
whispering curses between compliments
curly black hair and prissy spanish pale lower face and teeth
pudgy and awaiting a life of accountancy
a fat future wife or big old gay husband
Using his red pen to correct my notes
and insist on my stupidity
Dimples that could decieve the well meaning teachers
but this dirty octopus was a freaky leech
That excess flab needs to find a fryer
seafood patties for a fruity baby fat shower
The aggression lived in him built up
layer and layer accumulated behind his face
A hardened country boy severe and violent
The heat of his temper somewhere back
climbing to an inevitable peak
cheeks from slight tan to red
power flooding fron the heart and organs to the fist
Gareth's rage would not be contained
And then the shout of outrage
Fists flying one after the other
straight into the other boy's face
conjuring pure trauma
Kane slumface harlem
His slippery short black hair pin like
Invited himself in and accused us
of every wretched thing a kid might do
The hurt in his voice so heavy
So dark so pestilent
his body always inching forward
His fidgety legs adjusting his direction
He had championed the art of jeering
Of aiming insult to injury
Of squarely discouraging a boy to his lowest form
His demonic nature was impressive
yet you looked at his face
and thought slum
It's not just my least favorite month
It was one of my worst enemies
Lanky and slight yet exceptionally fast
acne prone and desperate
The eyes were too close to the nose
And the tongue sharper than a slaughterhouse blade
He could burn a hole in your head with the glare
A lean mass of pure rigid boney wrath
Nicholas may or may not
addicted to his cricket world
I never fathomed his hateful ways
Until I heard his father cuss him out one day
The saintsbury the tallest lad
These kids come with hormones they should have five years later
With a military tone and an adam's apple digging out of the throat
These Kids run and smack like a full grown man on the grass
we just look on feeling like crib babies
The Saintsbury was born marching out of the womb
Skin hair just enough to warm him in winter
While the rest of us bare ones just freeze
Behind his spectacles he observes the class
Then bellows something indistinct
it used to be the old cornerstone
Of sleepy yellow eye mullet
Bradbury lips that agree in the negative
Long legs short body
baby face ittitated voice
Chin and forehead want to marry
the rest of the face had kids
Yes you are bicylce
The all rounder
Athletic mirror hugger in your day
Reagan Herman munster Frankinstein
An ear for malicious Morgan
carry it forward carry it forward
emotional ah pock a lips
