The Head
would like to see us. Now,
Inside: before the day is done.
But we are having too much fun
Out here. We will not listen now,
Now smoke obscures the pot-holed yard.
This is going to be hard.
The Head cannot believe we’ve gone
This far. Have we been fighting? Yes,
We have. The cause of some distress
Around these parts, though we have gone
To ground before the grown-ups come.
Our actions leave them dumb.
The Head’s contention? SICK, we are.
Graffiti, ash, this path of glass
The fruits of all that come to pass —
But we will tell you what we are.
Hunched behind a garden wall,
The answer no one’s call.
Stephen Knight
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