TEENAGE BOYS

by Bryan Borland

With our legs
dangling stupidly
over an old wooden bridge,
he asks me if I ever pray.
The hot, sour smell
of the train tracks behind us
mixes with the scent of our stolen beer
and his cologne.
Through the darkness I
feel him studying me.
I think
Yeah I pray. You’re here, aren’t you?
but only mumble
“I guess.”

© Bryan Borland

NOTE: This poem is included in My Life as Adam as “Altar Boys.”