You knew this very well
when you were a teenager,
even if the words themselves
were not a part of your vocabulary.
Remember that fashion statement
that you had to beg to be allowed
to make/purchase and/or wear –
the thing that your parental units
truly abhorred, and on which they relented
only after a pleading and promising
so lengthy that the item in question
was nearly rendered out-of-date?
Remember how powerful
and free it made you feel –
how deliciously rebellious
you were in it - how independent?
But then there was that time
when you knew you had crossed the line
in one or more other areas –
not just crossed it,
but spray-painted that line into oblivion
with the graffiti of your wild oats.
You woke up one morning
with the realization that today
was a day of reckoning;
the day when your indiscretions
would come to light.
You knew that, whatever you chose
to wear that day, it would NOT be
the aforementioned cool clothes.
The clothes you picked for that day,
however they looked and felt,
were your sackcloth and ashes,
symbolic of your submission and contrition.
Hear our humble prayers, O Lord!
|Photo by Todd Jenkins|
© 2014 Todd Jenkins