It must be quite a rush
From monkey-bar playgrounds to pub and bar parking lots
They stand tall and lead with their chests
Hoping for someone to look at them wrong
Then hands turn to fists
The same hands that once so tiny
Curled around their mothers’ fingers through reflex
These hands swing on the ends of arms like speeding wrecking
balls
Aiming for human faces
Aiming for blood and bone and flesh
Are these people evil
These same boys and men go home and do kind things
Do errands for their mothers, kiss grandmothers goodbye
They help others, hold others, love others
Still they hunt, at 3pm then at 3 am
It must be quite a
rush
No comments:
Post a Comment