in the 1990’s
your flannel shirt
was a cultural ticket
that took you
greasy haired
through a graffiti pocked
bathroom stall door
to a grunge wünderland
where herpes came standard
with every tribal tattoo
nirvana whining
about your libido
a mosquito
&
girlfriends untrue
your dreams will be
dry humped
in a Geo Metro,
Generation X,
your so-called life…
high school interrupted
…eating Pearl Jam until
Zima vomit came to the house party too
with green apple jollyranchers
attended by
your skankiest girlfriend
who smoked Marlboro Reds
with the acumen
of a triple divorcee
her eyelids
the trashiest
ice blue
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