Youth

I will not be like you –

even if one day I find
the skin on my hands
is toughening
and my hair fades

and my heart hardens.

Time will not warp my convictions
nor rape my moral predispositions.

My youth is my enthusiasm
boiling over your cynicism
My naievete protecting
my genuine idealism.

You are jealous.

For I am young and
flights of fancy are
breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Why don’t you remember?

When being proper wasn’t
fitting for any occasion –
when being lax with grammar
was our secret language.