WHAT WAS BETTER

than stealing
an afternoon
from school,
playing hooky
in anybody's crib
whose parents
were gone or
couldn't give a fuck?
Somebody
always had some reefer;
Somebody
had a fistful of Black Beauties;
Somebody
had a down or two;
Somebody
brought a pint;
And everybody
had a pack of Bambu.
You had vinyl
or an FM radio.
Everybody posed.
Everybody was cute.
Everybody was handsome.
Everybody was experienced.
Everything revolved
around us.
We yak yak yaked
up an afternoon,
scrawled our own
hieroglyphics on rolled parchment,
tongues outpacing words,
plans fevered by amnesia,
outstripping notions of resources.

And what was worse
than our fears
catching up
to our coming down
and going home
to arguments
around dinner tables,
slaps & accusations;
unable to eat
from the speed;
thick with coats
residue & saliva
& dreams shaped
like a coffin
of the mouth.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018