First Hope Poem

The Sound of Squeaky Voices


I enter the bus with a smile on my face
Gliding to my spot
Up the steps
First left,
By the window

In the back boys sit with legs spread
Chin high with a look of dispare on their round skulls
Their sqeaks allow me to think
of small children
yet to hit puberity

They talk of
Nipple peircings
Fights
"Gay" events
In their lives

They talk of four letter words
Being kicked off the bus
Beatings
Thrashings
Skeletons in their closet

With every sentence
I think of their age
10
maybe 14
at most

They speak of their manhood
Their hair looking badass
Their baggy jeans and
Golden boxers
Lined and sewn with the lays they've received

With every sentence
With every word
With every squeak
I wonder how their lives came to be
This

Then I hear of their parents
And
Role models
Lives filled with people who
Do not give a damn

I no longer wonder how
I feel for them
I want to hug them
Look them in the eyes
Say something

Give them a care in the world
Because they deserve that
They deserve people who care and love them
For who they are
They deserve to find interests other than beatings
Other than hurting
They deserve a chance for something more. . .

So I sit there and listen to their macho stories
And the sqeaks of their voices
The breaks and clearing of the their throats
I listen to the nuclear warfare they live with at home or on the streets
and the
Girls they torment because they are "all that" and more
I listen to the bravado and hate that spews from their sqeaks

Then I hear
It
A hope
A shimmer
The word "Beautiful"
The words "If only"

And I wonder will they make it to the glimmer of hope they hold.

I stand to get off the bus and turn back to smile at them all.
I wonder, if maybe, just maybe,
It holds the power to give them a peice of hope they can take with them
Into a new world