Youth

I’m foggy again this morning. Damn medicine or mind. Maybe it’s me? Maybe whatever I’m trying to reach wants to stay hidden for now? On the train a child was screaming like the whole world was a playground. FUN FUN FUN FUN as he looked out the window, waving his crayons. I’m afraid of routines for this reason – that one day I’ll look out the window and not think life is a blast. Children really are drunk little people. Got something on your mind? Scream it! Hungry? Smear it all over your face. Tired in public? Shit, sleep where you lay. I wonder if adults drink to regain some of this freedom? Release themselves from social constraints? Adulthood is serious business *cough*.
On the platform, pigeons picked at a box of Chiquita bananas. An apple kept watch on an electric box. The fruits are going wild. I let them be, let them exist as long as they can, though death by pigeon must be a low. But that’s what people always told me when I’d wail at lions eating deer on television – there’s a natural order, fish eat bugs and we eat fish. How the hell did we get to the top? “Common sense is not very common,” I heard a man say once. The only beings to build cities and the only beings to burn them down.
I’ll stick with the little boy who was so damn excited over the color red, he screamed to an entire car of strangers. I’ll stick with the boy playing with his mom’s ear. I’ll stick with the boy.