c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-25)
Land of the lost, not a work of fiction
Caught in between factions of friction
I live here in this junkyard oasis
One of many such forgotten places
Where an old truck bed, rusted and rotten
Once upon a lonely time, forgotten
Is now a playground gym for kids out of school
Growing up without niceties and rules
Dispensed in classrooms, clean and tidy
Only because of petitions to the almighty
Their cries and cares can be heard up the ridge
By a homeless rube, under a bridge
In a cardboard tent, taken from a dumpster
Damp and dirty, yet undeterred
One of my neighbors, down on his luck
Drives a $400, GMC truck
With a failing frame, and leaking gas
It gets him to town, but not very fast
On Capitol Hill, the debate continues
Over billion-dollar baubles, and contrasting issues
But here down the slope from a stone-quarry spot
On a narrow strip of concrete, a rented lot
Little notice is paid to that kind of inflection
A tarp from Dollar General is the only protection
Slung between hooks screwed through the siding
An improvised cover for holes to be hiding
Raindrops tease the shield, until surrender is arranged
Living low on the cheap, it does not help to complain
The state of Ohio is truly invincible
But these plywood hovels are virtually invisible
A thatch of weeds between gaps in the gravel
Titles transferred by a judge’s gavel
A dining date for the unfortunate few
On processed cheese, and pantry stew
Lazy louts, I know, deserve no better
I’ve seen it written in a postal letter
Mailed from a courtroom at the county seat
To vagrant vassals, herded like meat
How strange to think that those bellies, unfilled
Feel gratitude for supping their broth of swamp swill
Fallen from grace, by circumstance
Hapless and hobbled, in this game of chance
Threadbare and frazzled from the fray
On a perch posed under clouds of gray
If I think too long about wandering in this wasteland
It causes me to tremble and question my stand
Loyal and upbeat
Diligently discrete
A suitor of gold stars at the end of this day
A seeker of justice in a paradigm of clay
Malleable and formless
No benefit beyond group success
Checked off a gatekeeper’s grant
In a striped shirt and tie, with pleated pants
Bootheels kicked up, in a display of glee
A reminder of gifts, doled out annually
Mercy, mercy, fall upon my soul
Don’t begrudge the chill of a porridge bowl
Give thanks to God for the right to choose
From hand-picked candidates, in wingtip shoes
From our venue on the fringe, a rural trailer enclave
All of these faces, appear much the same
Interchangeable and seamlessly segued to the next
Wielding a hook and a fisherman’s net
The sound of a ratty V-8, started next door
Causes quite a stir, a buzz through the floor
Trailer walls wildly vibrate
A fallen calendar gives the date
The sunrise awakens, over pallets stacked high
On the muddy shore of Lake Erie, judgment is nigh
Soon enough I will fade into the pale
And find final rest, beyond the veil
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