I'd Never

I remember

once when

I would never

grow old,

so many 

years ago 

now.

Just being grown

seemed so

many miles

from that FHA

house in Caraway

on cemetery road.

That was Then,

and Rumblefish,

a full set of 

Worldbooks from

1976, and a 

black and white

set out back,

beside my 

roll-away bed.

Life's lesson,

love doesn't last

and a marriage.

A move, and 

a new home.

I remember 

when Jonesboro

seemed so large.

I remember

when I 

could not die.

I pulled back 

scarlet swirls 

and pushed 

them in again.

I rode on top,

outside of cars.

I carried 

my big brothers 

.22 pistol 

tucked in my 

waistband,

the grip was 

small and branded

with a buffalo.  

Wind rushed

through my hair, 

and dope 

through the rest,

at some point then,

feeling alone.

I remember

finding a wife,

building a home,

I remember 

when my daughters

still spoke 

to me.

I remember rehabs,

and prisons, and

life on the streets-

a cardboard sign

and spare change.

I remember.

I remember once,

I would never grow old.