O'Neals Crossroad city Georgia Alt.800 Pop.2300
Two roads meet there, Caleb,
we’ll meet there too -
by and by.
At the roadhouse, maybe;
or the gas pump
just outside.
Cole ain’t comin’, Caleb.
He wanted to,
but he lies
in the state prison cold -
in the basement -
sheets aren’t dry.
Won’t stop drivin’ Caleb,
by day and night.
I’ll get there
afore Tuesday, just you
bring a pistol:
you know why.
You owe us this, Caleb;
more than the blood
and that lie
told at a crossroads in
that other town:
Rachel died.
