Emo Guy

During lunch hour, black converse one-star high-tops

hang out behind the gymnasium smoking

Newports cut with pot and teenage angst.

Ears plugged they listen to Jimmy Eat World,

complain about Algebra, how they hate their

mother, the crap that passes as food in the cafeteria.

Insecure about cracking voices, the

length of their shoelaces, they

whisper leave me alone, and long to be

Home, feeding their hamster, the only

creature on earth who knows how

they feel, caught in the wheel.