Between the Jail and the Cemetery

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