I
But we sit in naked classrooms with boards blacker than coal.
We listen to the teachers drone on and even jot a note or two –
the hit list that we’re listening to –
the earbuds hidden in our sweater’s sleeve
and resting in the hand on which we rest our head.
When report cards are handed out we grab our own
and smoke behind the courtyard
and make ourselves brave enough to make our way back home;
we clasp that piece of paper like a pall, then
run and race until daybreak,
then listen to apologies and screams and reprimands that make no sense,
and finally collapse.
II
We wake to bells and birds on Sunday mornings with a headache,
get dressed and stand in churches full of hectic manners
and holy water smelling like old ladies.
We try to wear the tie a little looser at the table,
and get a sore cheek or a mouthful or maybe just a bad look.
Our fathers laugh and growl and drink and smoke,
while mothers buzz about in greasy kitchens
and whine or pray or spank some child whose dress got torn
and get a rush because they feel like Moms
while we stand in hallways –
III
There is no surrogate for teenage angst.
It would be cool if we were really desperate.
It would be swell to say some awful stuff about our parents to our counselors.
“My Daddy came into my bedroom at midnight when I was six and…”
But we’re actors without scripts.
Everybody says that we have everything and we are lucky and we are happy,
so it must be true.
IV
We’re happy. I’m happy. If I cut I will bleed joy.
I stand in naked rooms with prints of naked women on the walls,
playing with my naked mind and wishing for some real naked women,
or even just a little bit of peace of mind, or any mind at all.
The enchanted vinyl spins and talks of bands that worship Satan from turntables.
Satan said I’m good and Jesus said I’m bad and Axl Rose said I’m kinda cool
but I should wear my hair like this or that.
Frank the evil bunny rabbit told me that the world is going to end –
but I don’t give a shit, Jesus saves anyway...?
V
We’re bad because we listen to the wrong music;
because we didn’t fight a war when wars were fought;
because we dress like punks and pierce our bellies;
We’re bad because we have it all.
We’re bad for certain faults not ours, and yet mistaken,
not good enough to run our fathers’ businesses, or raise our kids,
or understand the ups and downs of politics and market trends.
We’re bad because we do the same things that you used to,
but we wear a Che Guevara t-shirt
and sing an anthem at some rally.
We’re bad because we’re pacifists;
We’re bad because we’re free;
because we don’t know shit about the strength and blood and honor it takes to run this country we didn’t fight a war when wars were fought after all did we
VI
It matters not that we’ve escaped the Berlin zoo without a needle in our arms,
nor that we sleep under the stars just like you did –
but somehow it’s just not cool when it’s not the Sixties, is it.
But we still listen to Jim Morrison the electric poet.
We love a tender love that doesn’t need romance.
We sing a tune of freedom but the oppressor is unknown.
We raise our eyes and speak to different gods that maybe
maybe
will give a nod or tear or word or even just a little sign–but—