i wish i could go bust these bottles in the middle of my street.
(they fit so well in my small hand like grenades)
throw ’em as far & hard as i can
flippantly & uncaring
over my shoulder.
the best part, the anticipation of impact
(while running wildly in the opposite direction).
away from conformity.
away from authority.
the unmistakable satisfiying sound
of poverty, hopeless teenage hood angst
when you hated where you lived
so much, you wanted to punish it.
make it uglier & meaner.
& you still do.