Youth on a Bus

[sailorsenshimom]

Youth on a Bus
by Eoin Macken

There's an energy to them,
A nervous
Swagger that feeds each, and
Makes everybody around
shrink into their seats
Like innocuous versions of themselves.

Each boy wears clothes too big
That don't fit;
track suit bottoms down
Below the waist, jackets
Hanging like pouches of
Fattened cotton,

That highlight his own motif,
Separating his
Individuality from this conformity
Of being separate,
Which he wears with
Showy, hopeful pride.

For some it's hair,
Clipped tight to the scalp,
Or a gaudy piercing
Through the lip or brow,
For others no more
Than a ring on a finger.

But it's the pack mentality
That concerns the plebs, not fashion.
The quick instinct
To follow the most virile
That has taken control
In that unquestioning moment,

Where nothing else comes into
Their thoughts but
Adherence to their group,
Dismissing circumstances like
Madmen
Unhindered by consequence.

Yet underneath this bravado.
Below the thin veneer
That disguises their character,
Lies a desire for affection.
A yearning truth
Of humility and loyalty.

Brazen though this appears,
It's all a game.
A social ladder
That they clamber forth
On a daily basis
Searching for themselves.

As we all do.