Anthony

15

Fire Bombs In The Sky

It’s funny how
large explosions of light
can entertain a carnival of people
sitting on the wet grass
of the overcrowded soccer field.
I had kissed her earlier.
A hug,
she leaned in, giving me the sign,
I gave her a quick kiss
of friendship or desire,
following the French philosophy on it,
strictly platonic.
Now she sits crying
as those bombs
explode into the night,
drunkenly leaning against some other guy.
I pretend not to notice,
and watch the fireworks,
not blinking at all,
because the good stuff is always next.

I find myself in the backseat
of a car pulling into the drive,
kids emerge from the backyard, beckoning
us to the fire they had created.
I walk smiling and ready,
the innocence of my mind still holding strong.
I sit down on the remains of a stump,
watching the fire kill itself
through all the paper and wood.
I cough and turn my head,
only then do I focus
on the cheap bottle of beer
in the hand of the girl
to my right,
and the one,
to my left,
and the one,
across from me,
and the kissing girl,
off away from the fire,
inaudible sounds emitting from her
beer filled mouth.
Some tool pours gasoline
on the fire, somewhat impressing
the intoxicated girls;
the bookbag is opened,
a beer is grabbed,
opened,
and drank.
Screams now echo
from the girl I kissed,
silence encapsulates the fire,
and those tranced by it’s wild dance.
A drunken stumble and she’s
helped by her friends to the driveway.
They stand there,
I pay no attention, until the yelling
starts to puncture my ears.

This is bullshit.
I pull myself together and walk past,
phone in my hand,
speed dial is calling me.
Claire steps out from the pack
surrounding the girl I kissed.
This Bitch.
She looks angry,
I really don’t care about drama bullshit.
She stops me,
putting a hand on my chest,
and forcefully her foot on mine.
Don’t kiss her again,
she spits out at me.
Don’t kiss any girls again.
Period.
I don’t really want to deal with this,
I push past her,
the voice is rising.
I turn,
her middle finger raised to the sky.
But That’s Life.
I nod and walk
down the dark street,
feeling no emotion,
as I flick the top on my lighter.
Sick Youth.
The party had turned
to a bad AA meeting,
where all the sober people
met in a bar beforehand,
and showed up hammered.
So Long, Farewell a bid a boo a doo.
I’m singing to myself,
as I walk alone to the corner,
maybe as some sort of comforting
message. I don’t know.

I sit back on the curb,
watching the cars drive by,
oblivious to the dangers of teenagers.
A bumper sticker reads,
“Shit Happens”
off the pizza truck that
pulled into the house across the street.
It makes me think,
but I can’t come to any conclusions.
Awwwww Shit
A mindless ramble,
solidified by the mean of paper and pen.
At the beginning of a record,
the scratchy silence,
where everyone is waiting for the music.
we must wait for the music
but it never comes.