lost at fourteen,
a product of the system,
wandering behind walls
confining souls like Satan.
silent screams of youth
can be heard through my eyes,
far off cries for a seat at Grandma’s table.
while sleeping beside a toilet
on a concrete slab
atop a 4-inch mattress,
I ride my bike again
with friends left far behind.
reminiscing can be pleasant,
nostalgia can be sickening,
color, emotion, tone; contrast.
recalling crispy fried chicken
and siracha hot chili sauce,
collard greens with bacon strips,
hot water cornbread and Kool-Aid. 
warm tears on my cheeks,
the saltiness finds the corner of my mouth.
reminds me of my father’s whoopings,
all that correcting didn’t correct me.

ABOUT THE WRITER. Michael Kent is a new poet here, and he is a true pleasure to work with. I’m drawn to his writing because of its unforced and genuine quality, and I’m drawn to working with him because of his clear willingness to explore his creativity. I look forward to sharing more here.

Michael can be contacted via Getting Out or by writing:
Michael Kent Jr. #15215000
777 Stanton Blvd.
Ontario, OR 97914