|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
|Rite for Pre-teen Anarchists
(to sabotage a super-mall)
Ditch Gym again. Run to the woods.
Smudge your prints all over the plans.
Run faster. Fuck-heads don’t make history.
Circle the points of the roof in hot
red ink. Remember you’re weak
and the world is your proving ground.
Where should the cherry-bombs land?
Who should snipe the cameras down?
When we commandeer the stereo,
which songs from Never Mind the Bollocks?
Bodies or Seventeen?
You look seventeen
in your dad’s leather jacket.
Too bad he forgot how to use it.
When you butt the entrance glass,
cock your paint-ball gun.
Boredom’s driven us to far worse crimes than this.
About James Eidson