Breakfasting Punks

It’s early for punks, ten a.m.,

their habits usually like vampires’,

but there they are, three of them,

a trio to represent the choir.

In any group, one stands out,

with a look or persona that shouts,

“I am the magnet that attracts;

the rest, they just have my back.”

They look old enough for drinks,

but they’re not having alcohol,

and only one the coffee that you’d think;

juice, chocolate milk wash down their talk.

The star is serious about his look:
green-blond hair, T-shirt too short,

black jeans and trainers, belt with studs,

heavily tattooed arms.

Piercings are all that’s missing; I wonder

if there are some somewhere under

clothes; besides arms and face,

the only skins that shows the space

between his T-shirt and low jeans–

no ink there, completely clean.

He’s hot enough in his way,

but I’m not sure how well he’ll age.

I guess that’s not a major worry

when you’re invincibly under thirty.

 

Copyright 2013

T. Allen Culpepper

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