PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I remember as a young boy, the smell of salt water.
I remember the longing for a male figure.
I'd ask,"Will you be my Dad?"
He'd answer, "No, but I'll be your Bubba."
I remember as a young boy trapping insects in milk jugs
and kicking them around the yard.
I remember never wanting to do that again.

I remember touching myself to the essence of women.
I also remember watching along side the road for
wild marijuana.
I would walk for miles from my home to pick fists fulls of some poisonous
weed that I'd carry home in my pockets.
Smoke it in the garage buried deep within the yellow pages.
I'd watch break dancing movies and huff spray paint.
I'd hang from the rafters.
I'd see the future and know that
deep within my being that it had nothing to do with me.

Ray Ray from Tampa Bay
08/31/20112