I left at first light. Packed my bags for the 23rd time. (Or was it the 24th? I've lost count.) I went south, To a sad little factory town Where I spent part of my adolescence.
I thought it would be interesting to see if The townies still remembered me. If their *****-soaked brains had Retained the memory of the strange Little homeless girl with crooked hips.
I have changed quite a bit.
And I've just seen the medicine man, He knows who I am. I saw the fear in his eyes when he came in.
To him I am A ghostly amalgam Of memory and imagination.
A dream. A nightmare. Something he never thought he'd see again. He walks right by me without a second glance.
I let him pass.
I only exist in the rear view. Just a minor case of déjà vu.