_J STownsle y .com    ₃₄₁

A poem from highschool – circa 1995

Rip Van Ouch

It Was Dark;
The Pavement Was Darker.
The Concrete Stung,
As My Face Brushed Against its
Cold Heartless Surface.

It Stunk

“Ouch” I Said.
“That Hurt” I Replied.

I Skated Home Swiftly,
And My Face Erupted with
Bloody Bits of Gunk.

It Stunk More.