I think we are gonna be friends

I’ve always wanted to be Punk

I’ve always wanted to be Punk

I’d shave my head into a tall green mohawk

Held tight together in spikes by glue

Not that white Elmer’s but the blue stuff

 That gets harder than stone

I’d light up my last cigarette

After snuffing the previous on

The Surgeon General’s warning emblazoned

Upon the crumpled corpse of the pack I’d just destroyed

I’d take a swig from the bottle of Jack

I’d pilfered from Thom down the street

Because he spelled his name with an H

To accent his cool sideburns

I’d wear striped golfer’s pants

And two different kinds of combat boots

Spray-painted black despite the fact

That the left one came in black anyways

I’d wear a metal studded trenchcoat

Over a tattered T-shirt I found on the ground last week

It says, “It’s Hard To Be Humble When You’re Scottish”

But my great-grandfather was Welsh and his Irish.

Whoever makes safety pins would owe me some gratitude

They’d hold up my pants

Accessorize my ear

And, apparently, affix my eyebrow to my face

I’d flick off roadsigns and puke on walls

Angry about the goth girl whom I loved

And met at the party last night

She wore checkered Chucks and liked Weezer

But only the first album because the last one sucked

umblehH

 I’ve always wanted to be Punk

But really I’m Mark Twain

After he’s had a really bad day

After he scratched on the nine-ball,

Put out the stub of his last cigar,

Laid down in bed,

And wishes he was still Sam.

_______

Music Party

Rock and Pop dance in the middle

Secretly thinking they’re better than the other

Metal and Hip Hop sneer at each other

I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a fight

Reggae philosophizes with Ska

Who cracks jokes and tells him to relax for some reason

Blues tells country that his girl just left him

Country tells him the same thing but adds something about his dog and truck

Emo cries in the corner

Grunge lights a cigarette and tells him to shut up, he doesn’t care

Classical tries to organize the whole thing

Nobody really listens

Punk drinks himself into a stupor,

Kicks down the door and goes outside

Yelling, “Fuck You!” to anybody who’ll listen.

I secretly want to be Punk.