special occasions

( stux via pixabay)

after high school
we line up right on the edge, little wings aching
so fucking ready
to paint the sky with the afterburn
of our dreams, ripped right out of the packet 
and devoured
running free
the taste of certainty not yet gone to bitter

I hear there’s a reunion coming up soon
and I have no idea what to say
to the ones who fled, the ones who tore holes in the road out of town
or the other ones who stayed
and had their feathers mulched in suburban lawn-mowers
and normal, everyday mortgages
nor the ones like me who pretended that a trip
here and there
meant they hadn’t crashed back down to earth
to find a special kind of death –
the routine
of paycheque to paycheque
until it sounds just like breathing,
or maybe a greatest hits package 
or the swish of a flashy suit
that you can trot out
for special occasions like funerals, birthdays
and weddings
or right now, faking it 
for a room full of strangers.