I am an orphan
Of June’s long dead
Guitars, dark eyed
And wandering with
An empty hat
Begging alms
In dirt road towns
Where young women
Will not
Meet my gaze
Rust belt men
Carry their father’s guns
Climb out of pick up trucks
With hunting dogs
Sitting in the cab
I do not feel
Safe here
And I long for
Other lands
I sleep on the road
With my father’s toothless
Ghost pulled around me
Against the cold
Humming lullabies
Into the shallow
Of my ear
While the local men
Gather against me
Swapping ammunition
Hatred and gunfire
Thunder and rain
Drive me back to my
Daughters and the lake
Where they take me in
And listen quietly
But I am no fool
Even I don’t believe
Everything I tell them
Everything that
Happens to me
Mark S. Borczon is a poet living in Erie, Pa. He has published widely in the small press but not in the last few years. He works for Edinboro Iniversity in the office of disabled students. He is the father of 3 amazing daughters.
