One Awoke at Dawn

 

One awoke at dawn, his head comfortably propped on a railroad track singing it's morning song. And he filled his truck with keepsakes and stuffed them in a cheap hotel room, sold the truck and bought a guitar, sniffed his last line and stood on a corner, sprayed the spring air with all the withdrawal what all, dawn down to dusk shacked down playing with pencils, typed the keepers into a folio, slept an hour, smoked the dregs, and so he fell day on day from the devils dandruff to the devil's darkroom.

One said “thanks,” under his breath as he walked away with two-weeks pay and nothing to lose for his teenage dream of a life on the road with a guitar and a sidekick conveniently met. They found their fortune on a two-four of nightclubs facing the frosty faced filth with songs of love on their lips, like fresh flowers at a funeral, or bacon on the bean-shelf. Who knows what this world is really like, they saw you up close but you weren't looking your best.

And they left their loves to lighten their load, and burned their books to keep warm and they walked and walked on nothing but coffee and cigarettes and donuts at night, burning off the bullshit buzz in the house of horrors, happy enough, walking it off like a knocked up knee. “Yessiree,” just one more year! Even Jesus didn't get everything on his resume.

Others came and went each spring. “Just had to try the other side” But the river runs down most every time. Better grab a root and swing on shore, while we slosh through the ventricles of the heart of civilization, callused and savvy about just about anything you never would've cared about. You think you're so damn smart, how come you never read any of the good books we read in the donut shops waiting for the bus to start?

Once the drug gang and the hot-dog gang moved to the 'burbs, bloated and bitchy, it all simmered down like flat fryer oil. The boys crawled out into the countryside, recovering from their respective recoveries, the fame fizzled, and who's to know? Maybe there was one or two less stabbings, maybe three less suicides or a moment of peace, maybe the taste in memory saves thousands. Feels like courage yesterday, but now it's a young man's folly no-one remembers; just ten years when nothing mattered but keeping your head in the devil's darkroom.