Outlaws

We were outlaw children
stealing DVDs and chocolate
tagging streetlights
in the midst of every getaway.
The long days
could not betray us
ankle deep in streams
that cut the highways
into pieces.

Unplugged electric
guitars gather dust
in cellars at all corners
of the neighborhood,
until found in yellow
light those rainy nights.
We pick them up and play.

No more waiting in the shadows
of these warehouses for work,
I’ll take my pay in empty days
spent where the traffic
never makes its way.
They’ll see us
in the swirling wind,
a spiral to the sky,
and just as quickly
they’ll forget us
like a daydream
or a number
they were too afraid
to call.