The Lone Punk

We were children together.

Since then you've had more than enough time to "float up to the top of the room."

Now you are six pounds of dust, sitting by the bathroom sink.

And I'm left to face the rest of the family.

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I can't be the only one who thinks about it.

My refuge destroyed, no point of reference.

I'm an only child adult who, growing up, had an older brother.

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What ever happened to kitchen dares?

Video games over your shoulder.

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Our dad and his brother, our mother and her siblings, our three cousins,

What of me? The lone punk.

What. The fuck. Of me?

An exemplar to my peers of what their life could be if they lost theirs,

Swarmed by suburbanites asking when I'm going to cut my hair.

A thought experiment.

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