The Devil's Instruments

This is a short story written as a poem about the time I ran away to Nashville, after the death of my grandmother.

Back against the wall

No one to turn to

Nowhere to go

Too proud to fall

Half-mad with hunger

Clothes falling off rotten skin

Mind murky I roamed the

midnight alleys

In a haze

from lack of sleep

I pressed on

As the holy rollers

danced in circles and sang

Back to the wall

Plastic bags tied to my feet

I try not to laugh

As the holy man takes away

the cigarette from the music man

and tells him these are

the instruments of the devil

On Music City a mother

tells her child to look the other way

Place after place, I get turned away

Too crazy to go, but too

sane to stay

Pity I did not seek

It was a false destination

I had reached

No, I did not play to bluff

When it was life that

I've had enough

On that long ride

Too many things reminded

me of home

Strangers with familiar

faces became friends

I knew it was too late

To turn back now

No matter how far you run

The pain will always follow

A kindly stranger, a soldier's wife

Led me down that forgotten

highway of memories past