Maxwell McKeon
And when the breeze drifted through the alleyways and swayed the leaves so gently,
Conversation moved like hill song through the city square.
Two girls made the most of their time together, pressing their lips against one another.
Breathing air into each other’s lungs with a sweet humming song.
I hope their parents would stop going to church and pray their girls don’t move too far away.
College is just around the corner, and it’s hard having blue hair as a lawyer.
An older couple rests on each other’s heads.
Spending their afternoon stuck in between children and daydreams.
They can’t stay to long you see; they have a flight to catch tomorrow around - three.
A weekend away, is a weekend to be kids again; happy and free.
A pale chubby girl sits by herself, staring at the trees above her.
Maybe this is her last day here.
Is the breeze strong enough to blow down that branch way up above?
Could it be?
That she thinks of dying at just twenty-three.
Surprisingly I’m doing the same, tied down to my thoughts and other mind games.
Black shirt, brown shoes, I look quite the same as any of you.
Rising to my shaky feet, never felt so blue.
Moving away from all the worlds I’ve wandered through,
Wanting nothing more than a home to return to.
For parents to worry about their jailbird set free.
Another chance to sing into my partner’s ear.
Mailing paper prayers, that will fly me to my daughter’s bedroom,
Away from the decay that punctuates my own gloom.
Back to the eerie streetlights that cascade around my cardboard tomb.