Kind of Kids

We are stamp-lickers, Overachieving procrastinators, addicts The kind of kids that ran to the depths of local ponds Just to go screaming As our mothers did, shrieking under the airplanes departing to the heavens We bit bullets, licked our fangs clean but a bit wet behind the ears Animal, animal, animal We were the animals Some of us had seashell ears, or a lions' throats, with glass eyes 4-year-old hands in an artifact museum Tour guides with Applachian Mountain acne, scripted, itchy voices We could feel the pulsation in the softs of our tight fingers every time the signs read "Do not touch."