Sweet

Showers
and screwing
are the biggest
distractions
but I don't
miss laying
down never-enough
layers on
August asphalt,
making my
bed in Sheol,
soaking wet
with sweat,
hotter
than hell.
I don't miss
the loneliness
of crowded
sidewalks, and
the invisibility
of the tragically
poor.
I don't miss
standing outside
the Robinson
hoping for
cast-off butts
and loose change
but dreaming
of a seat
near the feet
of a beautiful
cellist making
love with life
and sound,
pulling tears
followed by
laughter
from deep within
who I am,
really.
I will not
miss the sadness
of cast away
family the
fifth or sixth
day of the
month,
check smoked up-
left for us,
the most broken,
to take care of.
We can't
care for ourselves.
I don't miss
letting my mama
down.
Letting you down.
Letting everyone down
for so long.
I won't miss
a chance to
say so.