Selling to Minors
It’s quite easy nowadays,
selling to minors.
Here comes the parade.
Thrift store crash of psychopathic characters.
Infinite crazy explosions,
rolling out on neurotic love waves.
It’s the last hurrah,
filled with jeers, and cheers, then tears.
Cannons fire filling the air with Pop Rocks
and cotton candy confetti.
The kids are satiated.
Some of the kids in their skinny jeans,
had to make room in their drawers when they shit themselves.
It all becomes a cheap action film,
getting cheesier with every little big death.
Where is Charles Bronson when you need him?
Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas?
The jugglers continue juggling,
and the clowns still honk their noses.
I still gnash my teeth.
I looked in the mirror this morning and saw my grandfather’s eyes staring back at me.