That face in the mirror

is

untried.

There are a few wrinkles.

Time went,

like the reflection.

The young counselor

walked into the school

“Does it take courage to quit,

if you don’t know what you want to do?”

It was all bullshit.

At the end of the day, he found condoms

on his windshield.

Some boys snickered.

“Hey, shitheads! Who did this?”

“Your mom!”

“Which one of you has the balls, to face me in a duel?”

“For real?”

“Yes. I’ll give you three choices: guns, knives, or your automobile.”

“Who says, automobile?” Are you from the 50s?”

“A drag-race at midnight, on the cliff corner. First, over the finish-line, wins, but go too fast, and you’re dead.”

“You’re on.”

“You’re a coward.”

“We’ll see, buddy.”

The blinking yellow light was a warning. Then it turned red. Dr. Johnson pulled his Mustang Mach 1 to the curb. He was dueling with a Challenger.

They had no idea.

High Schoolers, full of dreams, or 15 years later? Dr. Johnson spit-out the bitter taste of reality.

Somebody, wasn’t going to graduate.

The light turned green. The rubber pealed. Johnson flew off the cliff.

I’m writing this poem.

Johnson was insane.

I graduated.

I never went back to school.