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
Tag: high school
oh god
how i wish i had taken typing in high school
but the word processing and typing classes
were for the pregnant girls whose medusa fried hair
smelled like rave hairspray and marlboro reds
but no
i was too busy accumulating more important credits to graduate early
from glen este high school
and to this day i still don’t give a damn
who glen este was
i had to get away
from the bullying
more bullying
and did i mention bullying
the place was a varsity lettered lord of the flies reenactment
and nobody had the conch
the history teaching goomba soccer coach
with the 40 weight greasy slicked back hair
who was screwing the whole team
promising them scholarships to the coveted xavier university
the choir director who only gave the solos to his pets
and my mother who had decided to start having church services
in the living room
yeah i backed a moving truck up to the house at age 16
better that than climbing a clock tower armed
so here i am
20 years later
the queen of hunt and peck
i’m serious
i have the shit down to a fine art
my pointed index fingers flying
cigar clenched in my teeth
spectacles resting just above the tip of my nose
the only thing i’m missing is a fedora
with a little press card tucked into the brim
it’s really okay
my crappy typing will stand for all time
an emblem
of my daring escape
i want my camaro back
t-tops, for fuck’s sake, t-tops
all my mixtapes
and getting fingered behind the flats
at play practice
such a fine budding actress
every prom dress i ever had
with the shoes dyed to match
i want a man
reminiscent of mickey rourke on film
in 1987
i want the first shot of bourbon that felt right
and the first joint that took hold
i want the first time i saw the movie halloween
i want to say bloody mary five times
in a darkened bathroom mirror
i want to fear god and voodoo
with equal vim once again
it kept you busy with grand delusions
false hope
scripture
brimstone and jell-o molds
the future ain’t what it used to be, my friend
Categories
fall play
all i remember about high school
are books that changed my life
who i was fucking
and what i was touching
for the first time
opening night of the fall play
i had the lead and was fucking my co-star
a freshman year liz taylor
to his sophomore richard burton
backstage stolen kisses
and raised skirts
waiting for our cues
not caring if the audience noticed
the painted flats were moving
i fell in love with him as we rehearsed for a play my sophomore year
he was so significant
i still remember his confirmation name
anthony
he wasn’t my first kiss
but he was my first love
the not-so-good catholic boy
with whom i first went all the way
he gave me my only claddagh ring
on a hillside in ault park
still kept in a mother of pearl box on the dresser
i have refused all the other hand held hearts
bearing crowns
that came after
it’s easier not to care for whom you wed
he was 18
i was 15
that’s three decades to a teen
we were beautiful together
his blaze of red hair and irish smile
looked lovely beside
my dark island queen
we worshipped each other
we made stupid choices
we made love in places that defied
our anatomy and physics classes
within a year our words had destroyed each other
we exist an unused marriage bed
our unborn children grateful
they never endured our divorce
as am i
but i don’t regret a moment of him
yes, i still remember his confirmation name…