Poem: There Are No Cool Kids On Mars

Untitled copyYou found yourself a life on Mars.

 

But remember the feeling of concrete

freshly drenched in the summer’s heat.

Face to ground, it cooked you medium well —

sunbaked to perfection.

 

Think about when we were cool kids

hanging on the block,

cones oozing sugar down our arms

and we would lick up every last drop.

 

We slept on park benches —

under trees and

between the cracks in the leaves

came sunbeams

 

slithering and biting.

We were scorched.

It was sizzle to touch.

It was burnt to breathe.

 

We didn’t mind because

we were poker faced twerps,

even when our shirts were salt stained

and our skin, too.

 

We blamed it on the Saltines

They were our breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Praise the soup kitchen.

We would fill our pockets full.

 

Sometimes even in summer’s greatest blaze

we’d tried to taste the taste

of the chili that we ate at the foster.

Spiced just so that it made us sweat through our eyes.

 

Sweat would lead to tears.

I would force myself to choke them down.

and you’d always know because

my cheeks would catch fire.

 

You found yourself a life on mars,

where it’s negative sixty-four degrees.

You should remember as well as I — only cool is hot.

And you’re 34 million miles away from our cool kid days.

 

Come back down to earth.

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