Young King


Summer days,

when there was something

left of me.



up with the Sun,

rolling while the city sleeps.


Make my plans,

a solitary man.

Backpack on my back,

a couple dollars

in my hand,

and I’m King of the World,

my street.


My feet

carry me

down to the good concrete

at the library,

and then,

as the world wakes,

I’m on my way downtown,

just to see who skates by.


There’s no drugs in me, yet.

No booze,

no cigarettes,

just me

and my free agency,

because I’d rather be

anywhere than home.


Around noon,

hungry again.

Grab a sandwich

at the shop

where my friend works.

Say that I’ll stop by

after her shift,

then I’m gone again,

out into the concrete forest

where we live.


Bad Religion in my head,

as I push and kick

to the next event.

Then is how it feels

to be a free

latch-key kid,

back when we lived

free as a bird

and king

of my own little world.



HG – 2021

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