jackanapes

Like wildfire we spread across the city
in our Doc Martins and patterned tights;
adorable hooligans that we were.
We blared Blur in a Honda Civic
as we drove the streets,
shaking our hair of many hues,
purples and magentas and electric blues
shimmering in syncopated beats.
Jackanapes up to hijinks
with an inflated sense of authority.
Glacially cool, in our own minds, at least,
with eternity spread before us
and consequence surely no greater
than curfew reduced.
Inimitable, exhaustive and exhausting
with a clove cigarette, a zippo
and the world in the palms of our hands.