Stuffing kids in cold metal lockers
like sweaters in a box
The monarch of this corrupt kingdom
called grade school
A Letterman jacket that radiates pulses of
immense trepidation and reeks the stench of
insensitivity and misguidance
His life wrapped around the 100 yards of green
and pig skin
He constricts the lives of others to feed his own
sense of insecurity
He cracks jokes in class to cover his own stupidity
He hardly knows it but this it the beginning of his end

He returns home to mountains
of pale powdery cocaine, wrinkly old Ziploc bags
or potent green bud and canisters
of happy pills
He burns his life away at the back of a blunt
leaving his future to burn away with
the ashes in the wind
He need not worry about his future
for the monarch in the corrupt confines of education
never gets brought down right?

Khaki short-shorts, old torn running shoes and ruffled hair
Black and blue stained skin surround
his thick framed glasses
He runs through the gauntlet of hallways
while holding mountains of paper and ink
Beat to an unrelenting pulp everyday;
his future shines brighter as he gets closer to
the end of the tunnels
He silently bites his tongue and wishes the pain away
He needs to worry about his life for those who get
beat up by mindless flesh bags never strive and prosper right?

20 years pass and those short-shorts and ruffled hair grow to be
clean cut waves of cashmere and suede
He reaches across the counter to grab his coffee from
the Letterman jacket that has turned into a hung up worn apron,
a bottom feeder
to the capitalistic confounds of society