Wiregrass

Poets in their youth begin in gladness
William Wordsworth

Many poets I knew in my youth went away and died.
Others disappeared – merely –
Me, I am hiding in a mobile home in the Wiregrass.

I am running from sorrow.
Running from madness.
Running from the Devil.

My days are spent cooking, cleaning,
doing laundry, praying.
Praying to stave off sorrow and madness,

but sometimes I think these twin demons

are waiting outside the doors,
waiting for blindness to set in,
waiting for gladness to fade.

I’m trying to outshine
and outwit the Devil.

I bicker with my mother at night,

cook nice foods for her when it’s daylight.
No more $100 dinners that someone else paid for.
Food and fighting keep us alive.

Gone are the expensive European glasses.
Gone, the costly clothes and shoes.
Gone, the extravagant Georgetown hairdresser

My hair stuck on top of my…