Motor Motor

He would just stand there,
Like there was nothing else to do,
Like there was no one else to tend to.
Leaning on his motorcycle,
staring at absolutely nothing.

He's free,
I would think,
Free from crying baby sisters,
from staggering drunk fathers.

Rumors say he has no parents,
orphan roaming the streets,
staring at nothing.
Absolutely free.

I hated him,
that free boy,
free from the nuns,
from the regular beatings,
free from the farms,
from the pig's shit,
free from the disgusted stares of the pretty girls,
from the depression of social exclusion.

That stupid boy,
just leaning there.
Staring at nothing.
No one depending on him.
No one waiting for him.
Free.