Us all together running

A man that looks like a sexual predator -
not because of his clothes or stature,
but his eyes.
Those eyes of a wolf.

It's just so hard to meet somebody these days.

People on the benches, waiting to meet someone
who could be the only one.

They are:
sipping mall court smoothies to the internet dating blues.

A six year old white kid is:
wearing a flat billed cap and a Detroit Pistons jersey
listening to 50 Cent on his headphones.

Oh angel, if I could buy your happiness,
I would.

A young man my age with his eyebrow pierced,
pulling a brand new skateboard out of his bag,
while his beautiful baby boy sits
on the tile floor
pulling snot out of his nose with his fingers.

Stroller wheels running over my toes,
lending souvenirs to my lower half.
You will be
most exhausted when surrounded,
if you don't already know it.

I'll arrange the mannequins into intimate positions,
while you gyrate their hips.

The gift of life is
sexy
sometimes,
but easily manipulated and pathetic also.
It hangs by threads on cheerful slogans
and equally alarming catch phrases.

It's so fucking hard to be positive when
there is nothing but this long death march out to sea,
and every single human being you know is
running
running
running
to the beach.

To the babies:
you have been begging everyone to stop this madness,
but they will not take you seriously.
The greater population, your devastators,
your jurors,
have substantiated
that you are crying wolf.

It is generational genocide,
and at this point, I am so tired
that I don't feel like myself anymore.

Ask yourself.
What wisdom would the turtle yawn
if he were in this place of a thousand
bright smiles waiting impatiently to die?

Oh angel, if I could be your happiness,
I would.

A group of Goths and mall punks
walking in a pack,
scared of the same things that I am,
but only in a different way.

I feel for them with their
black trench coats
leather,
and colored hair
like I feel for the soldier in Iraq,
and all of the people that he is killing.

I feel for them like the obese girls feel for their
helpless stomachs
walking past
hot dog on a stick
as if their lives depended on it.

You give them sympathy, when it is empathy that they rightfully deserve.

I feel it all as a I felt when I said goodbye to my Black Labrador
before she was put to sleep.
It was a lonely omen,
but also carried something with it
that I knew would be revealed in time.