Wolf Pack

Thick air                 those nights
huddled in a drunken group of teary eyes
we were                   still little 
on Kate's porch
bunkering down under her younger sisters sleeping bag
the five of us             I hate it when they cry 
inhale sadness of the second hand 
dry your cheeks        on all ten sleeves 
crowding into the free-standing bathtub
underwear and all 
dried rose petals 
sometimes you have to overdose 
survive the night 
to remember why you're alive 

splashing in puddles of chemotherapy rain 
were we                   still little 
monthly                    blood counts 
School counsellor       bloodhounds 
pain in                      breathe out 
fresh mint and alcohol 
Rupert Holmes 
stolen street signs 
and wet clothes 
like no tomorrow 

because                   then 
it will be the first anniversary 
of our third funeral
minus one               
but there's always some new drug 
liquid morphine 
and slug guns 
in paddocks with
plastic targets
if you'd blacked out our scars
for just a few seconds longer 
the makeshift beds at 3 am
laid out in the middle of the street
and the secret cigarettes      that you don't smoke
would all scream
we are still               too little