Juicy, ' Our New Crop Of Prepubescents Poem by James McLain

and Juicy, ' Our New Crop Of Prepubescents
On Some Beach, here In Florida
Where poverty lives among the seedy lots
and valueless houses off the palm-lined,
Neogene strip,
behind the rusty chain winked fences,
heavy-bolted doors
tenement castles and while you, I watch
in the shadows of their speedways
and teen crime
and even preteen crime
rich in succulence
and soon to be harvested
has proven to be unresistant strains
some new infectious,
your old and stale, new again adversaries.

Each spike in offenses prompts a new round of questions,
Florida's little beings economic chief namely:

What will it take:
to keep our prepubes
out of the juvenile justice system — no prenatal,
a pipeline of the old Souths
white trash and Nigra, free labor
with now some brown
Cinnamon her spice being added to the prison system?

Presumptive reasoning being that they are to damaged
by societies standards
and lack of accountability
those important first nine long months
that they latter
when still a teen
whom brag about their then being able to do while standing on their heads
and seeing one eighteen month old toddler
the other day at the beach and doing just that,
trying to walk on his head and alcohol fetal syndrome
leaves me
more than a little confused
and her mother giving sport the eye,
blushing,
I hastily covered up
and rolled over in the sand,
thinking about how to save the loggerhead turtles.
Ohh these words are to scary,
'Mr speaker, they remind me of...well bestiality.