None of us
had fathers
living in our
homes. The
only men
that were ever
there spent
the majority
of the time in
our mothers
bedrooms.
We rode
skateboards
and pushbikes
and listened
to the heaviest
imaginable
metal with
long unkept
hair. Smoking
grass and
drinking
whiskey almost
every day.
Sean's uncle
owned the
corner liquor
store and
sold us any
alcohol we
wanted.
When we
didn't have
enough money,
Dave would
steal it from
the busy
chain liquor
outlet by
the highway.
He'd go in
there with a
loose shirt
and trousers
and come
out with several
large bottles
of top shelf
whiskey every
single time. It
was amazing.
He was the
only one of
us that could
do it without
getting caught.
We all played
instruments
for unknown
bands. Not
dreaming of
fame or
success: only
escape from
our small
backwards
suburb, and
to not turn
out like our
mothers
or their
boyfriends.
Doing
everything
we could
not to be
like our
mothers or
their
boyfriends.
Squandering
our entire
teenage
years on
this. Never
realising,
they had
once done
exactly the
same.
Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry of his has appeared in Gargoyle, New York Quarterly, North Dakota Quarterly, Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, Naugatuck River Review, Heavy Feather Review, and Nerve Cowboy. He has two full length collections available from Epic Rites Press.
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