Original rap/poetry by Larry Montague. Copyright © 2012 Larry Montague. Permission required for reproduction.

"where are you?"

my, where feet will fall between the school bus and half house
dumbed-out was cool to us
trying to fit the pants of men way in advance
young as people with the world in their hands
but old enough to be okay with a duller brain
an outlook full of rain, a mouthful of shameless mimicry
nameless actors aimed at backwards
flames and sacked herbs, burned in the chains
revealing the charred remains of a stainless pedigree
the folks they let it be, no home get fed and flee
afloat but heavy, into the smoke they settle
but the smoke won’t settle
so the folks don’t meddle
now the whole bunch is lost and tossed around the trip
until the one with the wheel exits or flips
when you’re driven by the light at the end of a pipe
even your best friends are never right
or anywhere in sight
they’re in life—where are you?

the founding of the cool guy, the rift between you and i
in twelfth grade i went to high school
you came to school high
slippin’ on a smooth slide, instead of takin’ notes in the classroom
it was tokes in the bathroom and jokes made the day zoom by
your guiding light was like the five senses to the mind
providing bright ascensions to the sky
your supply quenches the bind
first your mouth then your nose now into your vein in just two years time
it’s all fun until your friends get hurt
we should have been more alert
we could have been better friends, we should made our amends
why did we laugh at his blacked-out ass
when he was practically passed-out and he cracked that glass?
because i ask now means there’s something i regret
trouble i cannot accept
a postcard town with ugly secrets where hobbies turn to habits
athletes to addicts, and i’ve had it

when my friend made the front page of the paper
for sellin’ prescription pills he picked from his parents i took it personal
i’m not anti-pot, i know it’s perilous pull is personal
gateway, safe today
put some potent products on your palette, pal you won’t find a way out the gate
pinched potential—pull, poof, point proven
high is low, beer is eye-level
packs of pathogens purposely placed in close proximity to where you pay
a poor price for impaired pulmonary performance
poison takes the path that’s porous, pretty pictures implore us
i still remember your first party:
your friends were calling you a pussy and you were pounding PBRs
and they were pokin’ at your patience ‘til the pressure made you painless
and your puke made you famous—now you’re playing the part
there’s no pill for an ill that paralyzes the will, it’s still an issue
you’re still alive but we all miss you