your words are a plague- you spread
as you speak

a skinhead tattoo scrawled by friends
matching chicken scratch.

your mohawk undisturbed by an
Angry Bastard thermal.

the epitome of unfledged angst, a
deceitful anarchist.

The Clash swells from your speakers
asking should I stay or should I go?

and after all the words you exhorted
like a redeemer to his sycophants —

you left the easy way.