Billy
The Letter
Long lost friend of my yesteryears,
How is the town you never made it out of?
I can tell you from where I’m standing
It’s not much better here in New York.
This orange suit fits too tight
and the food doesn’t tickle my fancy —
Not much of an shock given my misgivings,
but I’ve also been thinking a lot.
Back to the train tracks as we sat talking
about the few years we’d had,
and maybe you’ve forgot.
Might you have told me to stay,
and I don’t mean to blame,
perhaps I wouldn’t have jumped aboard the train top.
Sure what’s a boy at fourteen to do,
my mind was made all up,
Mama said she loved me but
she said that to the man across the street as well.
Uncle Jack could take his abuse and shove it in his piss hole —
I’d had enough of it all.
Besides, you and I both know
my destiny was written the moment I was born.
They say you never see an old heroin addict,
so I must be the chosen one.
Because I’m forty three,
and sure life might be better were I not in a penitentiary,
But I’m still here reminiscing,
so it’s not all bad don’t you think?
Did you see the wildfires on the news?
Fought those with some fine folk
I met in San Jose city.
Did some noble things as I faded along —
a couple tattoos and now I’m covered from head to knee.
Kept my toes pure let the journey be their markings.
Met three girls and they’re now dead and gone.
The drugs did their deeds
and I could have stopped it.
Or maybe not, coz people always leave.
So that’s not my fault.
But I also moved heavy weight from coast to coast.
And ultimately got caught.
But here’s the good part,
I’m thinking of dropping the needle,
found a facility in the north east.
Said when I get out of this hole
I could check in try to get clean,
maybe finally fulfill that dream
we’d talked of decades ago —
Hike the Pacific Crest Trail,
become an engineer,
buy a house in the woods and maybe get a dog-
There I go again being selfish.
Tell me how you’ve been,
anything about what life you’ve seen.
I hope this letter finds you in peace,
and if by chance you have a family,
tell them I pass along my greetings.
You know what?
You don’t have to tell them a thing.
But should they ask who’s writing,
tell them it’s someone you almost grew up with —
Your long lost friend, Billy.
This is the first installment in a series of poems called Facility. All about 8 humans beings I met at my first stop on a personal journey. Written from various perspectives of and about the people involved, these are their stories- and they had to be told.
(Names have been changed to protect anonymity)
