Teenage TakeOvers
The old men shake their heads.
The kids don't.
They're too busy becoming parents before they know how to become adults.
Dad is somewhere behind concrete and razor wire.
Mom has burned through every soft word she ever owned.
The babies keep coming.
No plan. No money. No silence.
The neighborhood learns another last name, another siren, another empty chair at the dinner table.
Nobody is born wanting this.
But broken things have a way of making more broken things—
unless somebody decides the story ends with them.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.