Walking Alone in ‘81

by John Gregory Evans

© 5/17/2020 2:53:22 AM

How many rides, were you offered today?

Met a stranger with a heart full of compassion?

One I’d say, but, other than that

It just ain’t happening!

These foreign guests

within an illusory homeland

of hope?

Was there one who lifted you in friendship?

Or, do women merely come and go?

Life is not fair.

What voices lay in ruins

of a dead man walking

while inhaling square upon square,

friends, strangers really.

In ’72 one spit on me back from the war.

How many congested thoughts, of failure?

raise their thorny heads? All the while

reading Venceremos! feeling dead.

Do you remember, the cop?

who rendered a ride?

Shaving ten miles off your path?

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