The Kids

[scribblestrum]

The kids upstairs are stomping static
Spotty stompers in stormy sneakers
They beat gametes of empathy down
Toward a ball pit where my inner child drowns

The kids up late are punks, beasts, brats
Hooting owls with werewolf howls
Malcontents gnawing ma and meat,
Screaming sweets unmet--why meet?

The kids uptown are family treason
Sympathies, thick ticks, tall clocks
Knocking blocks, up, wood, and dice
Sufficed to say they do suffice

The kids down here are growing upper
Groaning, growling sitters; bleaker
Than lotion-lathered leaden specters,
Sunned simps on rooves of porn-directors