992. '...DEPICTION OF RESTRICTION'

THE DESCRIPTION OF YOUR
PRESCRIPTION WOULD BE
A DEPICTION OF
RESTRICTION
And then the Winter came, and
we had forgotten how to live.
Ice on the landings, water, frozen,
in buckets beneath the porch. That
thin yellow bulb on the 2nd floor landing,
weak and cold and shallow, throwing no
shadows at all. We'd all thinned to nothing,
emaciated faces, hungry, with no money to
spare or share. Any handout was ours alone.
-
Before long, the crazy snows came : stuck inside,
as if we could not move, we were beggared by
the cold - a lack of warmth, little to burn, and
a scowling mutt all adding to the woe.
-
I tried to save, just once, the situation by
bringing a man upstairs - some creepy black
gay guy willing to pay. It was all ass-backwards.
over top of this and that. Yet, working it all out
together, we'd gathered 35 bucks. Jesus,
remember how much that meant?
-
Those days are long away now.
'Harold the Key', as we called him,
is dead five years already, and you've
done your time in jail. Me? I've got nothing
to show but these notebooks, and some
pictures of that old gray garage.
Apparently, no one wants them
now. 'Worthless', is all I
hear anyone say.