No Homes For Nomads

a spoken word piece i have been vigorously working on for the past month. PLEASE show it love and give me feedback. i REALLY like this one!

Policeman shined his Mag on me

Asked if I was high

Then told me to go on home

Then I shouted and yelled

And started a fit

 

He tackled me down

And he handcuffed me too

Hysterical crying, with small bouts

Of laughter and gasps of air

I leaned my head against his Buick window

 

It was a long drive to the precinct

On a lonely road in the Arizona desert

The sheriff drove with his right arm

Straight and stiff, machine like

His hand sported a ring finger tan

 

He barked back words

Of southern sarcasm at me

 ‘Boy you gave me a hell of a scare

Not in the happiest of moods, is you?’

And with silence in return he asked again

 

‘Rough night, or are you just from crazy town?’

I spoke back to him, ‘more like a rough life’

‘Now I hear ya’ but ya don't gotta go hootin’

And hollerin’ at me, im just trying to keep

This here town as peaceful as I can’

 

Silence replied back to him as I banged my

Head softly on the window

‘what’s yer’ name, seeing as you got no ID’

‘People used to call me Andy Wells,

But now they just pass me by’

 

The sheriff could see I was in no talking mood

So he let up, but his eyes caught mine dead on

From the oversized rearview mirror

He studied me, his eyes went from smiling

To a look of intrigue, then to pure pity

 

He went from inquiring about me

To talking about his two grandchildren

Blake and Daisy Chavez

‘Ya see my Lilly up and married a Mexican

A real hard workin’ kind from past the deserts’

 

He went on about how the young ones loved

To play with his hat and eyeballed his six-shooter

‘Always one eye on my old face, the other on my

Smith & Wesson Model 66 .357 Magnum - Revolver

Cant take they eyes off that gun, they can’t’

 

His words seemed so carefully chosen inside of my head

What does this small town sheriff know

Or is he just as he seems, full of small talk and loneliness

And me, the Siamese cat, arching my back

Towards the ceiling, im blinking a lot but tears are escaping

 

I told him about how I didn’t like guns

That my dad was a small town sheriff just like him

And he too would wear his name on his shirt

And always one finger on his Magnum 357

I was putting him on, my dad was an alcoholic

 

He asked me an assortment of questions

Mainly about my sheriff father’s gun

So I kept up with my lie and answered

As best as I could; until he went from talking

To just subtly shaking his head from side to side

 

The road got a little bumpier, as we were in the

Later part of our trip. The handcuffs were cutting into my skin

Sheriff pulled over to the side and opened the back seat

Without a word he unbound me from them

And hopped back into the drivers seat; didn’t lock my door

 

The Joshua trees all started to resemble one single image

A scraggly hand, crawling its way onto the road

Fingernails bloodied red with Indian clay and hemoglobin

Parched by drought and lack of companionship

They are outstretched, and fully extended towards this weather beaten Buick

 

‘They will most certainly swallow me up

For they are the servant hands of some divine deity

That I have neglected to pay homage to

They know what I have done

And they want me ingested into their anhydrous core’

 

The name Dana rattles off in the confines of my prisoner’s brain

 So soft and clean, she was fresh silk drowned in pure white milk

She understood the methods of my existential irrationality

Not only acknowledged the idiosyncratic brain of this jaded poet

But mused tons of sappy, predictable poems of glee and elation

 

Sheriff is squinting into the mirror

Looking at me as I look passed the windshield

Passed the horizon, and passed the stagnant plateaus and river valleys beyond them

In some form of Native American sweating ritual

Sweating bullets, not blinking for Dana is remembered with short flashes of sharp light

 

Tires grip dirt and start to slow

Arizona dust kicks up in the wake of the engine collapsing

One hundred sixty-five horses thirsty and exhausted

Hot and steaming, they’re now at rest

And sheriff is up and out of his seat, opening my door

 

He’s got a thermos of coffee in his hand

And he pours me a cup of his bitter mud

Toasts to the beauty of life and gulps down a mouthful

I place mine on the trunk of the car

And bow my eyes an inch below his

 

‘You’ve got the look of a man who’s seen too much

Those opals been speakin’ to me the whole trip

They say you’re past the anger and you’re onto the apathy

I been where you are son, been seven years since I lost my Cathy

It’s a longer road then this, ill tell you that much

 

She done quit because of the stomach cancer

It ate her up till she wasn’t my strawberry jam anymore

Just a husk of sweet corn, cryin’ in the old bed we bought

It don't get no easier son, but you gotta’ find a light before you get swallowed in the dark

 

I don't got the heart taking you in the condition you’re in

Worlds’ done took enough from you

Ill drive you into town and set you up somewhere you can get fresh’

‘I think I’d be better if you dropped me off here sir

The walk would do me some good’

 

‘I shouldn’t be shocked hearing such nonsense come out

The mouth of a fella like you

I just got one question for you before you go

Why is it you started getting hot when I told you to go on home?’

‘Well, im some kind of nomad; you see, home is where the heart is’

 

And with that the sheriff tipped his hat and half-smiled at me

He hopped in his car and commanded those miserable horses

To move to his will. They did-

And the sheriff drove off deeper into the road adjusting his rear-view

And tapping his hand on the wheel

 

I nestled up on the floor and took a seat in the dirt

Sat with the line of Joshua trees winding up the road:

I am merely a Joshua tree

A hand, outstretched and fully extended

Paying homage to my divine deity; Dana Wells

Author's Note

PLEASE show it love and give me feedback. i REALLY like this one!

Reviews

[Michael X]

if you could write this in story form, and spice it up with more detail and energy, it would really take,
as it is now, not bad, has great poetential and has a few twists and turns, thanks for sharing your talent.

[T]

my best friend is a poetic genius

[James Takeo Panton]

I can tell you put quite a lot of effort into it
I would like to hear it as a spoken word piece
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this!