Small Town Rebuke | A Poem

 

I follow the curvature of highway 41 up from California Street. 

The whimsical shimmer of the street lights form repulsive halos as I jog beneath them. 

The unseen sky is wringing out It's laundry again 

And I remember thinking It all must look very cinematic.

The abrasive angst was friction in my veins 

causing electric currents to spiral.

I was far from okay with it all 

But I liked to consider myself an adolescent accepting of the uncontrollable circumstance.

A cat whispers to me with its paws before leaping from the dirty platter of public sidewalk 

and running off through the shrubs serving as bedding for small town drunkards.

The light caught her eyes and I somehow knew she glimpsed my thoughts 

I felt my cheeks flush with the embarrassment of shared knowledge

And I let my jogging begin to slow.

Everyone here hates this town.

It's all the bastard sons of beer-bloated hicks that say they love it.

“At least small towns are safe,”

Says the old man garishly displaying a stars and bars hat.

If small towns were so perfect they wouldn't stay small forever. 

Life isn't a Hallmark movie 

But some people still strive to prevent any imagined impurities.

Parents say the teachers should be armed with guns to save their children 

Others say they'll bum rush the school with their own ARS

The principal is punishing the same anxiety-ridden child for hiding in the bathroom stall skipping class

Forcefully take their knives and they'll pull the blades out of all the pencil sharpeners just to feel something

Another freshman is getting impregnated by her senior boyfriend in the parking lot

And here I am

A bobblehead teen running in the same unwashed hoodie after midnight

Complaining about the tired pep rallies he knows he won't be able to find a way out of.

My jersey still wreaks of jock seasoned football pads. 

I consider all the solutions I'm told will never be made true

I reach the top of the hill

The retina burning illumination of stadium lights sear my face 

And I wonder if this is the same thing my father feels when wandering the prison yards.

I want to scream that I'm not ready

I'm too young to be working from home

I can't solve the problems 

And I'll never have the answers!

I'm landlocked with 4 years as my walls

And there is nothing romantic about this isolation.