The Emotional Orphan

 

It began not so innocently

with voyeuristic tendencies.

the sound of concrete

and confetti in the night.

 

Screen time being cut

led to breaking and entering

by a felon on the run

with lots of potential.

 

A self imposed orphan

sought a musical boy on the wall,

fading tattoos, and a

cherry popsicle on two legs.

 

Prison visits were nice.

Something to look forward to

a reason for her new dress.

Letters from there even better.

 

A poet was born.

The razor was sharp,

but chasing a criminal

is what meant leaving a Mark.

 

Preteen prophecies

that there was nothing

but inebriation held true

on fifth avenue.

 

It never took

that much couch change

to fill a gallon jug.

Employment meant free food.

 

Red rag-top land yacht

knew The Place.

Charlie Brown knew a laundromat

where one could score TV hysteria.

 

So a sunset was sought

in a stolen vehicle headed south

where crystal ashtrays couldn’t fly,

burgers were expensive, and cocktails cheap.

 

From the comfort of a new home

Irish bar tunes proved to be just that

they were Irish. They were bar tunes.

They felt like home.

 

Cuban sandwiches made by

survivors of the boatlift

were served with love

and gladiolas in the colors of the day.

 

Fresh frozen water

melted in sandy sun-rays.

no hurricanes, just sunsets

in Leningrad’s sister city.

 

Momentary anger became

false memories of protective custody.

Cloudy stories with no picture proof.

No-one innocent. One condemned and guilty.

 

Some bridges built towards success

on the reputations of self and others.

Other bridges just burned, igniting old flames.

Passion of history and fortunes to come.

 

All the books were gone

just like the hope and second chance.

With no place to call home,

life in black plastic bags gets lost.

 

A guy can make amends

and have it never matter.

Just an attempted murderer

taking the usual guilt trip to nowhere.