From: dogar@rtsg.mot.com (Haroon H. Dogar)
Subject: Anon. comments/criticisms/flames solicited
Organization: Motorola Inc., Cellular Infrastructure Group
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 20:13:12 GMT

The two that follow are posted on behalf of a friend 
without access who (also) wishes to remain anonymous.
Comments (posted or e-mailed to this address) are
solicited and will be passed on.




		You're not my friend anymore. I hate you.

"I shot you first!"
We played at war
we played with life 
the bullets were imaginary,
but the scraped knees testified to the world that our war wounds were real

"It was on the line!"
"It was out!"
an argument, a fight, pulled hair, nasty names
"You're not my friend anymore. I hate you."
"come on guys, stop fighting."
the next week no one remembered

"Race you down the hill."
pedalling furiously, head down, top speed
"LOOK OUT!!!"
too late
bike spills, child tumbles, fender rips open his leg
blood everywhere--or so it seems
"Oh gross. That looks sick with the skin just hanging there like that. 
We better get you to a hospital.
Hey you're not gonna cry are you?"
"NO!"

"Let's go to the mall. I'll drive."
Driver's licenses
video arcades, shopping malls, girls 
Baker's Square, football games, girls
R-rated movies, stuffed pizza, girls
"I don't think this is such a good idea"
"Sometimes you just gotta say what the ..."
busted, big trouble, uh-oh, recriminations, I-told-you-so(s)

"99th percentile SAT, 99th percentile ACT, 99th percentile Achievements."
"Are we geniuses or what?"
"These rich white boys got nothin' on us."
College applications, compare grades and scores, daydream, hope, pray

"Haven't seen you in a while, Dudes, how's it goin'?"
get radical, join a frat, summer intern, no time
"See you guys in a couple of months--if I can."

"I do"
Nervousness, fear, off-color jokes, whispered advice
grown-up dinner parties, stiff conversation, too tense, don't offend the new brides
more relaxed, more at ease, new friends, shared dreams
"The next party's at our house."

anger, forgiveness, sadness, joy, victory, despair, anxiety, pain, relief, support
small voice: "You're not my friend anymore. I hate you."
grown voice: "You're not my friends and you never were. You're my brothers."

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		Little Boxes

Fine trimmed lawns and manicured trees
Flower gardens of Tulips and pink peonies 
beside row upon row of oil-stained asphalt driveways 
that lead to little boxes
little boxes that all look the same

Basketball hoops and Japanese cars,
children at play, a dog in the yard
porch lights, a stoop, a two-car garage
lovely boxes these boxes
that all look the same

Four bedrooms, a fireplace, the siding is gray
mom's an alchoholic, susie blase
dad's a pedophile now junior is gay
they mask it well, together, each Sunday they pray
next to all of the others who come out of their boxes
the little boxes that all look the same

Beer bottles in the street the old Chevy she shakes
inside Shelly screams...all hear...each one looks away
Karen loves Junior, Junior loves Jay-
-sometimes it just works out that way-
-Tom loves Mary, Mary's sleeping with Paul, 
(Mary's the one who *really* loves them all.)
Like their parents before them and their children yet to be
these teens are locked into the suburban bourgeoisie
locked into these boxes the damn boxes
the little boxes that all look the same

row after row, street after street, the scene is the same, a keg and a rape

wait...

a dinner party on this street, it's quieter though 
sneak up to the door, peak through the window
good friends, good food, good cheer, no masks, no lies, no fear 
seven friends and their wives are gathered together
they shared their younger lives, now they share days even better
their mission is different their goals not the same 
they don't fit into this neighborhood but here they are anyway
here there is sincerity, here there is love, 
here there is trust and the blessings of the One above
yes, these boxes, these boxes "they all look alike"--you complain
but, these houses, these houses they are not all the same
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems