A young girl—fresh and happy—enters the party.
No one can forget the excitement of being sixteen
meeting new friends, the heat that flushes through the
body as it enters the crowd
making mistakes for the sake of being wrong.
She knows no one here, but that doesn’t quell the
exhilaration.
The Ohio moon rises as the parents hide under their
covers and youth come out to play. Its white beams
extend over the gravel roads, down the neighborhood
streets, and into the pulsing houses sweet with alcohol
and laughter. It watches over them—gentle and
forgiving and quiet. Taking a glass, the girl drinks
liquor, scalding her novice throat. Everything begins
to blur as the nice boys offer her red Solo after red
Solo (or was it of her own volition? It doesn’t matter, it
would all have ended the same.)
They grab her by the wrists and ankles, dragging her
from party to party.
The moon doesn’t touch her or them tonight.
[Anonymous conversation]
Pika5: Can you believe it?
Dogemuch8: What?
Pika5: They tried to cover it up. Those football fucktards
think they can hide.
Dogemuch8: Did you get the video?
Pika5: Ya, it seems legit. I don’t want to live on the planet
anymore after watching that.
Dogemuch8: That’s why I hate the outernet; full of assholes
and weirdos.
Pika5: Right, and we’re the ones wearing the masks.
We Are Anonymous.
We Are Legion.
We Do Not Forgive.
We Do Not Forget.
Expect Us.
Image: James Paramecio from Pixabay
Check out my collection of poetry, available on Amazon in digital and print.
Christy Leos 