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.
T. Allen Culpepper