A Ride to Mars
There were nods that should have come from bigger men. Boys, teenage replicas of early man, adventure in the bowel of an itch, skipping school, a rocket ship to Mars, idle chatter from minds yet to unfold, gather round their mischievous camaraderie, aiming for a bottle to booze.
Sixteen, seventeen, under age, their morning lips wet from a NY deal.
A clumsy stroll here, stupor over Mars red planet, some fell before the noon bell sounded. Here in a drunk, smiles over highways, at last, we are all waddling ducks.