we ran with the mis-led
hung by the swing set
passed by a sign of some kind,
watched all the cops swarm
before we warned
and took our drags and zagged

I can see my face then
frozen posture
burst to laughter
while the other's toughened
I watched a muffin
come alive;
And I watched a film shoot
shorts of dumpster dives
shoot a burnt alive problem child
who was more afraid of turtles
than hypothermia or being ignited
talk of the town, smashed a bottle over his head
just to drown himself out

our tallest friend,
so we read,
whom our necks would ache to sight
found a feud with a hypothermic
trip one night;
to stay 20 for a life time.

We didn't need stomping grounds
when everywhere we stood, we stood in crowds
and gathered weekly to support the scene
a made up mob of kids just like we--
drunk and doped up
propped up table tops and chairs that topped up
sky high above the balcony,
no wrist bands-- pullies
markers and tricks up our sleeves--
whatever it took
to support the scene
and score the night for free.

But as time will,
killed even the strongest
of thrills,
and first to fall victim
was the biggest, to drugs
Atleast 3 got arrested
easily before 16
I got a felony,
dropped the dream
that one day we'd all
own a bar to split evenly;
"and only drink from the stash
cause the trash get the tap"
and we'd laugh in the woods
behind Mike's in the back

Where we'd hid a couch,
to pound, and pound,
and then black outs--
dizzy spells began to uncurl
splendid dillusional
visions of worlds
became true where even past out
you could still get the girl

Johnny Law strutted through
like he seemed to know me,
but he's just a nothing to you
a scrawny fucking bully
who got fucked with in grade school
and tripped picked spitted
flopped dropped popped and shocked;
ditched by his siblings,
with daily dose of lickings
and decided to step in,
no smiles,
no tongue
just a badge and tape recording
and force and a gun

he shot each
and every
child
inside of us
and what's left of us?

curriculums, pay stubs
and occasional pipe dreams
long walks to work
divided and conquered
and worse

clean streaks, dirt paths,
but none of it really matters
because its cheap talk
and "matter of fact"
chitter fucking chatter
wives tales to be told
when last names grow stale

and what we have
are swing sets
and tape decks
and board wrecks
our historical memorial--
shows
nothing done now,
has been done before
and catch ups---
are far past small talk,
and Johnny Law--
behind the Pizza place
on the turnpike with a betty--
or whatever term like this
they give to the face of the petty,
pretty low downs who go down for tickets
to be washed up and torn up
Johnny Law the Magician---

So we sing,
and we laugh whenever we pass
swingsets;
cassettes and regrets
and romance that resurfaces
all around's our stomping ground
and the consequences touched none
Johnny Law grew fat,
and our crimes got expunged.