shivering in our leather jackets

there was

something cool and dangerous

about

Maxie Sabron,

the leather jacket,

his black hair,

greased back,

the look

in his eyes that he could kill

his own

mother if he had too.

there was a long scar

down the side

of his face,

of unknown origin.

he offered me

a cigarette as we stood

in the playground

after dark,

shivering in the cold,

in our thin coats.

i was half his size.

i didn't take it.

i was never on the inside

of our pretend hoodlum

group

after that.

no break ins, or stolen

cars,

or stealing

from stores for me.

no one inked my arm

with a needle

and blue

ink.