During the last school year I got one of my poem’s in my school newspaper.
The Immortal Telomeres
Raddle the rainy weeks
Of a Hollywood town
Where water never leaks.
A sickle sweat with Kool-Aid
Rests in a 12 year-old’s hand,
Here, people are not born- but made,
In a day dreamed, hazy-cooked land.
Palm trees track traces of hair dye,
Cut, cut, cut, mold.
The final goal- to look good when we die,
Snip, clip, lip, sold.
The anecdote analyses codes of DNA,
Mark the spot you want gone.
In a world of animals- blood must pay.
How green and neat are the lawns!