Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

on the outskirts of town
between the county jail
and the cemetery
lies my home
Edgar Alan Poe
could live next door
but I don't know
I never see my neighbors

what I can't ignore 
is the parade of pedestrians
on their walk of shame
from their "great stone mamma"
two miles 
up the highway
my house is the first one
they come to

sometimes I lend my phone
and I don't mind giving
a glass of water
or even a ride 
to the vulnerable
but most of the time
they pass me by
I try not to 
catch their eyes
yet I do sometimes
and I see
me

that night I
slept on concrete
with a scratchy blanket
she could have 
taken me home
but she told the sheriff
to take away the handcuffed
accused
he had locked up
in his back seat
she laughs now
well... yeah
I do too
what the hell

before that
for fifteen years
I was at that jail
playing my guitar
singing "Victory in Jesus"
preaching redemption
to a captive audience (ha-ha)

now lost souls
trickle by 
and I see
the one walking 
head down
or the bold tramper
with the angry face
any of them could 
be me

or should I be 
up the road
the other way 
nothing but my name
chiseled in stone
with fellow lost souls 
I know

no 
I'm here 
on the outskirts
somewhere between
the jail and the cemetery 
next door to Edgar
but I wouldn't know
Mr. Poe
my neighbors never 
see me

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