Dressed in an old coat I lumber Down a street in the East Village, time itself Whistling up my ass and looking to punish me For all the undone business I have walked away from, And I think I might have stayed In that last tower by the ocean, The one I built with my hands and furnished Using funds which came to me at nightfall, in a windfall.... Just ahead of me, under the telephone wires On this long lane of troubles, I notice a gathering Of viciously insane criminals I'll have to pass Getting to the end of this long block in eternity. There's nothing between us. Good I look so dangerous in this coat.
From American Prodigal by Liam Rector, published by Story Line Press. Copyright © 1994 by Liam Rector. Reprinted by permission of the author and Story Line Press.