Sunday, February 20, 2011

Persona Poem: Savior


i Promise, i’m better. i’m fixed, mom. really
i’m complete. i don’t give a shit about
it anymore. i’m Saved. the lord, he helped, helped me to
find my way. i hated myself. you. dad. laura. but
i forgive you. I forgive you, dad, and the assholes who
gave me that shit. i forgive you for
giving me money to blow, all the cars, and for
indulgin’ in whatever i wanted. I forgive you.

i’m completely better. i Swear. just because i’m back in
asheville doesn’t mean that i’ll go back to
snortin’ or stealin’ again. god helped Me. he
saved Me. teen challenge really worked. it did, i
Promise. i won’t ever go back to where i was. ever.
through prayer, my forgiveness, and my family, i’ll
make it. i will. god is in my soul. he’s in my
spirit. he’s in my life. i feel his power. his love. I Promise. but
i’m dying for a smoke. just one cigarette. ya know, they never
let me have one smoke. not one. i really
need one. just one smoke, mom. a cigrette has nothin’ to
do with drugs. it’s legal. it’s fine. i just really need one.

i really need a smoke, mom. really. i do. can I borrow
some money? just to buy a pack of smokes. can i take the car? just
once. It’s not a big deal, mom. it’s a pack of
fuckin’ cigrettes. just let me borrow the car. please. I’m
twenty-six years old. i can make my own fuckin’
decisions. remember, mom. god is with me. he won’t let
anything happen. i really need some smokes. i know i haven’t
smoked in thirteen months. I fuckin’ know this. that’s
why i need one. puhleaze? remember, i’m fixed. I don’t need it
anymore. i’ll be back in fifteen minutes. just fifteen minutes, mom.

with “time” on the radio, the windows rolled
down. The gas station was in sight. five minutes from
home. lounged back in the hot leather seats, Palace Place flies
by the passenger side window. a notable beat up
ford taurus sits in the parking lot. in the cracked cement
spot. waiting. watching. waiting for the borrowed car to
arrive. to pull up. to park in the empty space, waiting for
the borrowed car to sit in its fated destination. the borrowed car
arrives in its former spot. one time won’t hurt. one line won’t
hurt me. god will save Me. one little white line. checkin’
the glove compartment. secret stash? two twenties located. in case of an
emergency. well, this is kinda of an emergency. no harm in takin’ it. she won’t
miss it. it’s an emergency situation. just this once. I need
it. the borrowed car door slams. softly. almost
silently. sneaking. shadow-like to the broken door frame. 

 the sky shines behind the borrowed car driver’s back. The gilded sphere smiles at
the bleak building when the loud knock interrupts the
Sun’s smirk. the gray paint crumbles upon the
fresh leather shoes as the owner of the room meets the leathershoe-tapper at his
door. a snaggle-toothed forty-one year old answers the
tap. grinning, he welcomes his long lost pal in
the room. the one room square. filled with a
rotting stench. with cascading cans, apple carcasses, and
sparse but scattered soiled furniture decorate the swinish
dwelling. “long time, no see, buddy.” yeah, i’ve
been outta town. but, I’m back. was gonna see how ya were. “alright, kid, I’m
good, been good. You got any cash on ya?” yeah, a little bit. “well, welcome back to
fairyland, brotha. i think i got exactly whacha ya need.”

the gray door closes behind the borrowed sedan and the ford taurus. both, sitting
in the shine of the Sun. waiting. waiting for the leathershoe-tapper. waiting for
the savior that never comes. waiting for the
Park Place guest that departs too late. the Sun already said his
“goodbye.” the borrowed sedan lingers. loitering within its space. waiting. waiting
the borrowed sedan hears the leather taps of footsteps. swayin’ along the
cracked surface. the borrowed sedan hears his owner’s son slump into 
his seat. sitting, slumpin’, slurrin’. slurrin’ something. the borrowed sedan
staggers home in the moonlight. without a twinkle of a star. without the
Sun shining. without a glimmer. without arriving in its spot in the McAlister’s garage until
well over the Promised fifteen minutes. the borrowed sedan lurches
into its hole. in the shadows. in the pitch-black eve, it withdraws.

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