them kids...

...are talking nothing in the corner
making plans to steal a pig
lure it into a van
with a leftover donut (exhibit A)

name it Rick
teach it to attack trespassers
teach it to fetch me a beer from the fridge
now that would be cool.

raise it up fat
beneath an umbrella
behind the shed
in one of their yards
until the day:

hot dogs
pork tenderloin
bacon
the teen male dream--unlimited meat
no effort no cost

and then
in the space of a single breath
one of them grows up.

what about all the shit?

reality does not stride
long-legged and overdressed
on to the scene,
waving its arms and directing traffic.

it was sitting always at the table,
waiting to be acknowledged.

questions arise:
the availability of a van.
fencing.
food.
feces.
butchery.

i don't know. there'd be a lot of blood.
you could use a chainsaw.
could not. you'd get a disease.
from a chainsaw? impossible.

but it's too late. adolescence is only
immortal untouchable driven by appetite
until the day it is not.

sure as the sun crosses the sky
and descends into red
behind suburban fences
too weak to restrain pigs

the conversation shifts
from the grand petty crimes of youth
to the safe and sanitized diversions
of middle age.
you playing golf this weekend?