Maybe I'm Old Fashioned

They stood,
arms folded over
their twenty something
year old chests,
while the hot girl
in the short shorts
struggled to wipe the
vomit from her face.

She was smothered

in the excess of being
young and having too much
alcohol.

And still they just stood,

in stupefied ignorance, as
the drunken girl’s female
friend tried to get
the vomit soaked girl up.
These boys did not lift a finger.

“Why aren’t you helping,” I asked.

“We don’t know her,” they replied.
“That’s not a reason not to help,” I said.

Still,

they,
just,
stood.

“You were just trying to make

out with her before she sprayed
er stomach contents all over
the place,” I said.
“Yeah, we don’t know her.”

Useless kids.

I helped her,

I helped the drunken girl’s
friend.

I couldn’t help myself,

I have to help.

It’s in my nature to

help.

But they just stood,

wondering if she was
still able to sex it up.
Maybe it didn’t matter
to them.

And I just don’t

understand it.