Hazael
By Ewan
Sun, 27 May 2007
- 1677 reads
Hazael Ohio Altitude 636 Pop.1757
‘Beholden to ye.’ from the passenger side
of my pick-up truck, along for the ride.
‘Drop me off on the edge of town.’
Blue, blue eyes in a face burnt brown,
wrinkled and cracked from the kiss of the wind;
Shirt not buttoned, half safety-pinned;
tears in the jeans, boots not shined.
‘I’d like to walk in, if you don’t mind.’
I’d recognised him, on the side of the road:
Last time I saw him, I was ten years old.
Newspaper picture on the Clarion’s front,
killed his own dad, shot’m more’n once.
©Ewan Lawrie 2007-05-27
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