|Froglice Doing What He Loved (photo taken shortly before he was murdered)|
We use to hang at Teen Donuts,
exploring holes in reality and ourselves.
We opened new pathways,
helped countless doughnuts escape
to freedom; our "underground railroad"
was the dough of legend. They caught us,
of course; the adults, they punished us.
They even killed my friend Froglice.
We needed revenge, and we burnt
Teen Donuts to the ground.
They came for us, of course;
the adults, they captured us
and sentenced us to death.
They'll cut our throats as if we're hogs;
they'll trash our names, and sing
the praises of commerce and life
as new Teen Donuts rise
in every town from here to Hell.
Poet's Notes: This is a stark, brutal take on a familiar theme: pure-hearted, freedom-loving young people in revolt against an oppressive adult world. "Teen Donuts" manifested one morning shortly after I awakened. God bless you, Froglice; I'll burn down a Teen Donuts in your name.
Editor’s Note: This one is quite a departure from his usual style but is still recognizable as a Balcom poem by its rhetoric and content. I enjoy the narrative here and the "fight The Man" motif. It appeals to my rarely manifested but secretly strong rebel side.
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