Heatflash, 2004
Soak up the last dregs of summer.
Smoke the last drags of your cigarette,
and you're out the door.
With a heat rash creepin' up your leg.
And shades covering your over concealed eyes.
She said, "It's Saturday night, there's always a party on Saturday night."
She said, " Let's go."
You said, " Okay..."
Hop hoppin' in your ride,
pop poppin' the engine's revving and raring to go.
Eat the gas, press the peddle, light the joint, you're gone.
It's blurry, you said, "Turn up the heat!"
So they turned on the air conditioning.
You pass a sign on the freeway,
And laugh because it said 60, but you thought it said 69. The driver was doing at least 79, but you thought he was going twice that.
Look at the naive boy next to you,
remember dreaming about waking up next to him three nights ago.
Look away because you realize it wasn't a dream,
but he's wasted, your wasted, who cares?
It's a funny thing how blow gives you acne and a yellow complexion,
you blame it on the heat.
The music's blaring but it's only an echo in your head
The conversations make the car spin.
The convertible drives like a dream
though it's polluted by love bugs in the day
and fire bugs at night.
They pass back the joint
you slip out of reality
behind the garish lights
and sounds of city life.
"You missed the light! I told you make a right!"
So the driver makes a right, but a little late.
You know what they say better late then never,
you always thought that was sarcasm
maybe you were right.
You're choking, gagging,
not on the humidity,
but on the flames cooking the back of your throat.
With a joint lodged in the back of your lung
you never thought ash tasted worse
but that wasn't the problem.
Now the car was truly spinning,
not just spinning but flipping too.
Flipping in a haze of black and blue,
just your swollen eyes and limbs scraping the pavement.
You're slippin, sliddin' in and out of a coma.
You can barely feel the pain killers they have you on.
The parents have to sign your will because you're paralyzed.
You shed a tear wondering if your friends will be too busy looking for a smoke spot to come to your funeral.
She said, "It's Saturday night, there's always a party on Saturday night."
She said, " Let's go."
You said, " Okay..."
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Revise 1-
A lone prize sap,
mockery in a pigeon's eyes,
stooped on a
street corner.
You sheletered
puddles of condensed rain
outcast by the clouds,
Beaten with dirt by the masses.
While they exposed the brittleness of the woman,
trapped in the figure of a child.
Regretful reminders of your acceptance,
Lurched into your hollowed core.
A guff of wind could have caused you to flee.
She said, "It's Saturday night, There's always a party on Saturday night."
She said,"Let's go!"
You said,"Okay..."
Pitiful and pink eyed you sat,
While peers sang through beer muzzled breath,
Getting laid, and doing what they think teenagers should do.
You scurried like a rat following it's pack.
Inheriting a white rim nose, and the jitters.
No one is as disregarded as you.
Leaning on a rusted street light,
Serving shady glances to anything that shifts.
Flashback, to your room,
wireless conversations a mile a minute.
Searching through worn jeans for cash.
Hoping your dealer will except coin.
All the while
wondering if you'd have a new outlook on your future
had you never met these low lives.
You slow your pace for but a moment
Staring agape at the stranger in the reflection,
The refugee of a jagged home,
A home which resembled the cracks and rifts
etching your mirror,
that you hammeredAfter the after party,
in place for a quick fix.
Hop hoppin' in her ride,
pop poppin' the engine's revving and raring to go.
Eat the gas, press the peddle, light the joint, you're gone.
It's blurry, you said, "Turn up the heat!"
So they turned on the air conditioning.
You pass a sign on the freeway,
And laugh because it said 60, but you thought it said 69. The driver was doing at least 79, but you thought he was going twice that.
Look at the naive boy next to you,
remember dreaming about waking up next to him three nights ago.
Look away because you realize it wasn't a dream,
but he's wasted, your wasted, who cares?
It's a funny thing how blow gives you acne and a yellow complexion,
you blame it on the heat.
The music's blaring but it's only an echo in your head
The conversations make the car spin.
The convertible drives like a dream
though it's polluted by love bugs in the day
and fire bugs at night.
They pass back the joint
you slip out of reality
behind the garish lights
and sounds of city life.
"You missed the light! I told you make a right!"
So the driver makes a right, but a little late.
You know what they say better late then never,
you always thought that was sarcasm
maybe you were right.
You're choking, gagging,
not on the humidity,
but on the flames cooking the back of your throat.
With a joint lodged in the back of your lung
you never thought ash tasted worse
but that wasn't the problem.
Now the car was truly spinning,
not just spinning but flipping too.
Flipping in a haze of black and blue,
just your swollen eyes and limbs scraping the pavement.
You're slippin, sliddin' in and out of a coma.
You can barely feel the pain killers they have you on.
The parents have to sign your will because you're paralyzed.
Shedding a tear,
you wonder if your friends will show up at your funeral,
or if they'll be too busy looking for a smoke spot.
Were your dreams ever real
or just the stuff pipes are made of?
A surmountable personality
left you in pieces lacking a leader to follow.
She said, "It's Saturday night, there's always a party on Saturday night."
She said, " Let's go."
You said, " Okay..."
Gold trophy winner
Honorable mention
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