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May 2014
It's hard to think-
this time last week-
I was searching for weeds-
in the cracks of the street-
in front of the church-
Where I once worked-
In the sun, hardwork-
Pulled weeds all day till my hands hurt-

I was working at the shelter when he found me-
said son you need to leave-
move out, get out of this town-
because you ain't happy, and you sure as hell ain't proud.

Back to flint-
crime hole of Michigan-
where I once lived-
when I was a kid-
where the buildings look like ****-
and the streets smell like ****-

It's been six years since I left for Maine-
I've searched flint up and down for a familiar face-
the only thing familiar was the old cafe-
we spent summers here, breakfast everyday.

Lady at the counter asked "sweetie what's your name"-
She was cleaning the tables while I had my tea-
She said they don't pay her enough for this ****.
I said "you still make more than me"

She recognized my face-
I asked her if She remembered any of my friends-
We used to come here everyday-
After school. For burgers and shakes-

I explained, I never kept in touch-
I'm not the type to, And even if I did-
they wouldn't hear from me that much-

I told her what had happened. How I lost my house in flames. I have no where to stay, not my parents, and I don't have any friends.

She said she remembered you. She remembered how we were always
together.

Asked if you still lived in town-
She said yeah-
she sees you sometimes, hanging around.

She set a glass down-
Poured some tea-
Shared a cup with me-
She said I don't want to be involved with you-
Asked her what she means.

Welcome home. She said.
She winked. Again.
Napkin and a pen.
Gave me an address.

Out past the green light,
Past The fairgrounds.
I drive out and around.
And found my self nearly out of gas.
Every light stayed green as I would pass.
There was never any traffic in this town. Or at least none that would last.
Drive past old miss myrtles.
Her house was covered in vines.
She used to leave her window open,
Set there fresh baked pies.
I wonder of she's alive.
I found your house.
Boarded up.
Two men came out.
Undone zippers and button ups.
One laughed and smirked, pretty girl.
Worth every dime.
The veins in my neck popped and i clenched my fists at my side.
You walked out side.

You stood there, so beaten.
It's clear that you've eaten,
Some fists in your life.
You walked back in side.
It's too late to hide,
The black bruises, your eyes.
Don't try and disguise it's too late for make up and lies.
Drugs and money on the table.
Your life's a pond that stands still.
One drop or touch,
And you shake and waver, the flavor is enough.
Holes in the roof.
Teeth on the ground.
Trash and needles,
Radio blaring loud.
Outside traffic.
Busted lips, white noise.
In a crib, a witnessing
little boy.
Thought of you more and more.
Saw a sign, you were what I came home for.
Not your arm full of scars,
Or face full of sores.
All my friends have left and gone.
Numbers lost.
Seems like this whole town is dead.
Every street lights stuck on red.
Quinton Horras Yard
Written by
Quinton Horras Yard  The Midwest
(The Midwest)   
1.1k
 
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