A dozen young men clear debris along
The highway, not chained together but not
Free to go, yellow-jacketed, watched by
A supervisor in a uniform
As you and I pass by unrecognized
For our transgressions, not righteous enough
To challenge gravity for redemption,
Just pleading not to fall again tonight.

How easily affected are the minds,
God's children moving shakily between
The scripts and benedictions. Anon
Caffeine and cigarettes, some chewing gum.
A sketch of what goes on inside the brain.
Confessions, passes, stigma from the nurse
Who holds the pad at management. Pain talks,
At times it shouts, and who are you to judge?

Complete the course, it's all spelled out.  My songs are just excuses for the life I've lived.
Not much of one at that, not ever worth
Enough to pay the bills or right the wrongs
That lately have accumulated here
In my thick head, Golgotha of the soul.

It must have been hard to wake from a dream
Where he could do anything, even more
Than anyone alive, to realize then
That he could not move half his body still,
To wait to be transferred by his small wife
From bed to porcelain *** to lift chair-
Unimaginable loss of freedom
In a house he built from lumber he sawed
From timber he cut from a woods he owned.

I grew up there, by that same woods, deep and
Dark in the early morning light, snaking
Logs between still standing  oaks, looking up
For widowmakers, dead limbs that slaughter
Loggers, and over my shoulder for snags
That rear tractors or snap chains that become
Metal whips--so many dangers in that
Woods, yet I  felt safe, as his son, because
He had the confidence I wish I knew.

How absurd to find myself still,
Despite the years of evidence,
Believing that a word or two,
Spoke plainly on a winter's night,
Could warm your clever, unseen lips,
Just enough to call my name.

Little boy, go tell your mother
That the rains are coming,
And the horrible winds.
But don't scare her.