Another version of this poem at Mark Tulin on Letterpile.
Buttered popcorn, milk chocolate Goobers
and launching fresh spitballs,
wads of wet toilet paper
sliding down the silver screen
as confused and dazed ushers
chase children misbehaving.
We clap, hoot and holler
for the possessed little blond-haired boys,
flashing their strobe-light eyes,
ice-cold water in their veins,
infiltrating a celluloid English town.
They rise from the grave of affluent families,
putting their mommies to sleep,
melting their poor daddies
into pools of Silly Putty.
I wished that I had their power
to reduce adults to pint size humans,
to make teachers, neighbors, and bullies
feel the wrath of a teenage boy.
Casting the last Pixie Stick onto my tongue,
I suck feverishly on a caramel Sugar Daddy
with a handful of red licorice in my hands,
I finally feel content in my sugar high.
It was just another Saturday matinee
flipping our friends and enemies the bird,
teasing the girls in the front row.
Next week another horror film:
the Creature from the Black Lagoon.