The young

The young are quickest
In their discovery of physical frailties.

Give them a chance. Expose your portly back
And flabby thighs—

When was the last time
You run? Oh they will have you mauled

To kiss the uninteresting asphalt
As they pin you down

With new grown teeth.
White like the moon, they bare it 

Like swords. They do not hold back.
It does not matter where you run 

To—the shops, 
The streets, the subway. 

They are so sharp.
Throbbing with hurt,

Injured by growing pain, puerile
In tenuity. They are howling

For more. And soon, before the end
They will come with their lanky legs and

Hands marked with anger.
Like the beautiful beasts, they will eat.

Crunch. They will eat
And make lunch of your precious sun.

Dale Chou
2012-12-02