Gwendolyn Brooks's short poem "We Real Cool" deals with a group of adolescents who labor under the misapprehension that they're cool. What's more, they seem to think that their supposed coolness makes them indestructible, that they can do as they please without suffering any negative consequences. Like a lot of people their age, they live for today and pay no heed to what tomorrow may bring.

From their point of view, and from the perspective of those who look upon them as the epitome of cool, there's nothing in the slightest bit wrong with their behavior. They're not sinful; they're just having a good time. Whether it's leaving school early, hanging out at the Golden Shovel pool hall, or drinking gin, these young folks don't think for one moment that whatever they do will one day come back to haunt them.

But it will. For they will die soon. And one can reasonably infer that their early deaths will be a direct result of all that delinquent behavior set out earlier in the poem. All that leaving and lurking, striking and singing, drinking and jazzing will one day lead the seven young pool players at the Golden Shovel to an early grave.