Do they have a reason?

Stolen from Mr. Hubbard.
I like this.


DO THEY HAVE A REASON
by Stephen Dobyns

Life begins, you make some friends,
what futures you plan for one another.
No failures here, no one sent to prison.
When you first start out, you can't imagine
you won't succeed, even if the road's unclear,
your parents call you dumb and your brother
pulls your ears; somehow you'll make it work,
even if what you want is to rob a bank,
to be a first-rate crook, but mostly we start out
idealistic--doctors, astrophysicists--or perhaps
we have a taste for fame and money--actors,
stockbrokers--but always something at the top
and always several: Maybe I'll be this or that,
we say. And mostly our friends encourage us
just so we'll encourage them. Sure you'll be
a surgeon, they say, you got the hands. So we
loll about the riverbank with our first cigar
and watch the ducks float by. It's summer
and third grade is dead forever. We lean back
on our elbows and blow some smoke. I'll be
an astronaut, you say, and own a fleet of trucks.
You bet, says your cousin, and I'll play ball.
And he's the guy who dies a drunk at thirty-five.
Think of the moment when you at last catch on.
Some kids get it right away, others not so quick.
One day you experience a click in your head
as the world turns from one place to another.
Does the sky change color, the river get colder?
Like when you stroll into a local diner after school
for a Coke and a hot pretzel, a place you visit
every day to meet your pals, but today your pals
are having fun someplace else and there instead
are half a dozen kids you've never seen before:
sixth graders for certain. They snatch your pack,
toss your stuff around, one tears your shirt,
another rips your books. What's their reason?
They don't need a reason. When the world
you loved is changed for another, it's like that.