neck straining
to keep head high
Passed out
Came to
bathed in fear
porch lights casting shadow
of dangling severed ear
tried to puke
couldn't puke
drunk but couldn't puke
Passed out
Came to
with a man in my face asking why
"why the f--- are you asking me questions?"
"there are ladies present" came his reply
feet all around me
stop the questions please!
closed my eyes like a dead man
to hammer home the plea
Passed out
Came to
pried off the road by careless hands
face up on a stretcher
under bright bleary stars streaked by pain
while the man with the questions
shouted to the crowd crude clear commands
Passed out
Came to
"where's Ken?"
"Ken's dead"
"what happened then?"
Passed out
Came to
laid out, rolled over by unseen faces
and voices at work probing my body
praising my attitude
while putting me through my paces
with Ken's sister sobbing in my face
overwhelming me with questions
as to what had taken place
and her parents leaving from behind
huddled, bent, sobbing
oblivious to the time
***
Ken's clothes were returned to his parents and saved
neatly folded and tucked away
along with all his other things
in a bedroom where they stayed.
Mine became relics kept for a while
in a corner of the garage;
shredded shirt and bloody jeans
kept for brooding then burned up in a pile
For shooting Ken trying to escape
the killer got manslaughter,
and Hell for dragging me through a twilight world
where my life was very much at stake.
Our attackers were the stuff of boyhood fears,
spinning out of the Dust Bowl
with rail thin bodies pumped up by hate
who saw in us a means of burning out on a legacy of tears.



























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