Donald

Unable to stop moving
He rocked and jutted thin elbows in obscure directions
A parking lot messiah
Chapped lips spouting rumpled bible verses
He rolled endless cigarettes, to slow emphysema
I would sit with him
In his rusted car while he huffed shame through tubes
And spilled out the anarchy of white cross youth
Could pin point the very moment when
Lost it, or gained it
Depending on the darkness of his mood
Standing on a levee wall on a Florida canal
High on dream acid and the loss of a decade
He wrote songs and songs for girls
And women who had left him.


© Jenny Catlin