Bogus

Pshhh-ah
scoffs the rebellious
try hard teen.
He flips tables
better than he flips his hair.
He makes a loud exit
better than the rest of them.

“It’s all bogus maannn,” is his classic answer.
Class clown status.
Detention hall idol.

He beats the school bell by skitching
behind buses, holding on without a
care in the world, as if any bump
in the road that sent him
sailing into the caboose would be
totally whatever.

As if.

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