The Young Ones

JAY E. BRADSTREET

The Young Ones

The exquisite torture rack influences one To sing a fantastic opera, And the schoolgirls and boys find anger When they are sent to the time-out chair. Their crossing arms are Mating snakes capable of beauty or other things. As they rehearse for the play The lavender curtains create a burrowing place Deep in the halls of their memories. Hiding inside the skirt of her mother, A shy one lingers away from the group. For some reason its always been that way. Taste is such a warmer bath for the tongue When it comes from the oval of Mother's never-lasting dinner plate. They dry off their skin-Stepping out from the showerWith barbed-wire that tickles. There is no way that they can hold back their chuckles. Chocolate--or feces--around the cave Of their face is irrelevant while judging their Juggernaut glow-spot that is their knowledge. Their arms reach out For someone to hold--to scold--or to fold.