A Rerun

I thought I'd replublish a poem I wrote about 8 or 9 years ago. Soon, I'll build a link to the things I've written in the past, some of it is no longer accessible from the new site.

I Walk

I walk. I walk fast and hard
With death behind me and
youth in front I walk.
Past houses, ten, twenty,
one hundred, two hundred.
They say some houses are haunted,
they're wrong, they all are.
Haunted with stories seeking
to be told but held fast
With fences, chain link,
picket, split rail.
With walls,
brick, stone, wood.
And still I walk.

I walk past a house
with its ghost
on the porch,
Head in hands,
coffee cup at feet,
Beagle looking up,
face wrinkled with worry,
Ears pricked up
with anticipation
Is it a hangover?
Did she walk out?
Too many hours at work?
A tough decision?
And still I walk.

I used to throw current events
on porches never seeing faces.
I walked then for
seven dollars a week.
I walk past a house,
where an old man
used to give me a red pop
for a paper.
And still I walk.

I walk looking over shoulder,
is death catching up
or am I gaining on youth?
"Hey, hey you, can you help me?"
A ghost hails me from her porch.
"Can you help me
bring in some furniture?"
Can't she see I'm in a
life or death race.
"I have MS,
do you know what that is?"
"Yes, I do I…"
"It's Multiple Sclerosis."
She didn't hear me.
"I've had it since
I was twenty two.
That's my son.
He doesn't have it thank God.
I'm one of five girls.
God. I'm glad I had a boy,
do you have a cigarette?
God, I could use a cigarette.
Crap, that's my mom pulling up.
Jesus I hate her."
I wait,
the furniture never shows.
I look from the porch
down the street
and see that death
is catching up
And youth is pulling away.
And still I walk.

I walk past old men
sitting on rockers.
They wait for death and
have said good bye to youth.
And while they wait they laugh
and play cards and drink beer.
And still I walk.

I walk past a childhood friend's house.
We walked apart one day and
never saw each other again.
And still I walk
and walk
and walk.