Never caught red-handed

The spray can
in my hand
felt too big,
and it’s nozzle too small.
The clouds of paint seemed silent
and unreal,
gas-like and poisonous,
as they moved towards the school gym’s
night-time wall.

The orange artificial light
made it hard
to see the damage done
Let alone to think of what to write.
But, write I did
and draw, and scrawl,
before I ran.
Oh, cheap beer
and adrenalin.

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