Noon, Summer, Somewhere.

Seven dollars to my name,
barely a half tank of gas,
and no job, like half the country.
On the brighter side,
I’ve got a pack of cigarettes
and an iced tea to call mine,
though they’re probably both killing me.
I am living on a prayer
to a God I don’t believe in,
and the hope of seeing your face
sooner, rather than later.
I am trying,
no, make that dying,
to be free of everything:
Haunted memories
and late term stupidity.
I am sitting in a parking lot,
wondering where the road
I may be getting on might take me.
I think I’ll take out that
200 I’ve been saving,
hop on 94 to 275 to 75 south
and pray for good weather
or maybe just a better song.
I wonder if they’ll come to get me
or just burn everything I left behind.
I wonder what they would have said that one time,
or if they would have spoken at all,
or understood that we all fall down, sometimes.
That’s too deep for this afternoon,
I’d rather use my sense to find something to do,
To get my laughs on a half tank of gas,
and spend my last cent on a full pack of Parliaments.