10 years 100 days

this is proof:

we were masochistic

from a very young age.

remember when we sang

on the smelly old bus,

its seats painted with nail polish,

removed by foul air, 

covered with foul mouths?

that took us from our school

and led us to the park?

we sat stern and suppressed, 

like at an angry 

formal dinner table,

all quiet down in front,

because sixth graders

had robbed us of the back.

the best seats, always

waiting, waiting for speed bumps

and high jumps,

our asses (only "tushies" then)

pulled down hard, against green

plastic cushions 

cut with fake imprints,

in less than a full second,

before we've had time to laugh,

or finish our screams, or even gasp.

remember when we sang

99 bottles of beer on the wall,

but thought nothing of beer,

only of how we would totally 

(totally, but not really, 

never really) punch someone

if he (it was always a he) started 

again, anew,

from 99?

remember,

it was never 100,

it was never whole.