Church Street
My friends quietly dropped out of high school.
It seemed each week we had parties for some guy
Going into jail or getting released.
It’s not that anyone thought this was cool,
Only good wishes that the time would fly,
And after twenty beers he might find some peace.
Now that I look back, with no emotion,
We needed parties. We liked company.
We hardly needed a reason at all:
Never sweet-sixteen or graduation,
But funeral, fresh hitch in the army,
Baby soon for the sad girl in the hall.
We’d vent, catch any reason to not grieve,
Revel down days torn from the years we’d leave.
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