The New Beat

A pack of feral youth
on the prowl,
roam the neighborhood.

They are young punks
street smart and kitschy schooled
on hip-hop and hype
living in the shadow of the city,
          exiled
to the gulag of suburbia.

Tired of being caged by their age
they explore boundaries
test limits, smoke cigarettes
catch a buzz on weed and wine
as they wander in search of something,
anything
to relieve the boredom
of a hemmed-in life
on a 'nothing to do' Saturday night.

They are the kids of cool,
stray cats,
loose and wild on the streets
out all hours of the night,
they walk the razor's edge,
fearless and filled
with the bravado
of adolescence.

They relish life
but flirt with death
without conscious or sense
of consequence
and only committed
to the act of being cool.

At the intersection
cars screech to a halt,
no horns honk and only
the click-click
of electric door locks
acknowledge
their parting the sea of traffic.

Is it their dress,
demeanor, numbers
or their youth that fills
drivers and passengers with dread?

It doesn't matter.
The teens smile as they pass
and savor the power.