Once I was a boy
in a Ford Expedition
of boys graduating

from high school.  In the end, even
the most timid of us
learned to light a fuse:

The X, roman candles, Cherry Bomb Blaster.
Our huge, cheap cigars, our
crappy little lighters.  We were a part

of the Class of 2005
Senior Week
in spite of our sarcasm,

in spite of our whims
and movie and
video game marathons instead of homework.

Imagine us, our 5 minds,
still forming,
debating the problems of the world,

singing “Any Way You
Want It” or
“Piano Man.”

There were the pictures
we never showed our parents
because, to tell the truth,

we weren’t always “good.”
One boy is in Boston
now, three remain in Pennsylvania

one lives in Indiana, o ne
works full time,
the other four are students.

All of us are small-time crooks
for stealing
a 19 MPH Speed Limit sign.

I don’t remember any of us
as tired
or irritable or bored.

All we ever did was what
first came to mind,
unplanned and capricious,

freedom we always craved-
something exciting
and at the bottom of all

the side trips we imagined we
would never forget.
We knew about alcohol

but there wasn’t any alcohol
in the Expedition.
That would have been wrong

and we knew it—some of us.
Or none
of us.  Either way.