Milk Carton Kid

We were the seekers

Exploring the unfamiliar.

Nothing was impossible.

We were the lost ones

That didn’t fit into a societal mold.

I was anti-societal.

I had a penchant for danger.

I was punk rock riff raff.

Nearly homeless on several occassions.

An eccentric panhandler.

Educated and creative.

I tended to like sex and violence.

At one time

Myself

And the other Milk Carton Kids

Were important to each other

Hanging around in packs.

Over time 

We got lost between the dirty cracks 

Of those polluted concrete city sidewalks.

Lost to drugs and disease.

It was the Reagan/Thatcher years

And we were the only ones aware enough

To know that things weren’t 

Going in the right direction.

As our cherub faces

Would show up on the side of milk cartons

We were marching in Washington.

We were pissed off.

We were making music and art

And dancing.

We were helping each other out

Because we knew

No one else would.

The suburban army of zoned out picket fenced robots

Didn’t understand.

Their eyes glowed

From the radiation of UHF/VHF.

I never felt apologetic for my attitude.

They were just as much the enemy.

When our pack 

Was in a convenience store

And we spotted one of us

On the side of the quart sized milk cartons

We stole them all.

Out in the parking lot 

We stood around laughing

And put the milk cartons on the ground

And all of us at the same time

Jumped up in the air

And came down

With heavy worn leather boots.

The milk sprayed out everywhere

In a giant white abstract

All over the bruised pavement

And we danced around

Celebrating 

Our freedom

Until the owner of the convenience store

Came running out

With a baseball bat

Yelling at us

That he called the cops

And we took off on foot

Down the street

And disappeared.

Something we were really

Good at.