Outskirts
 
Always thinking ahead
 
outskirts of a typical city of now
many with crimson tattoos
sown into wrinkled foreheads
 
loosening my belt
finishing my potato chips
and Pepsi chaser
 
heading back to the new wilderness
after voicing my opinions
to those that will listen
 
stirring a gathering crowd
sticks and stones
against my thick scars
 
but something about me
holds them still
perhaps tired of killing others
 
I shrug
squint
hearing angels in my head
 
my fists filled with heaviness
many wondering how
the world came to this
 
several miles out
I’m thinking I’m free
but someone sent the hounds after me
 
I crawl into my cave
temporary home
possibly my final tomb
 
but I believe I’m safe
plenty of dog biscuits
in my backpack
 
always thinking ahead
for a few more minutes to live.