A Prayer for the Damned

poem

 

Crippled, Lea, he said his prayers. We

 

pushed him out the box car door. He fell

 

into the barbwire as we clattered down the

 

track. We sniveled in our discontent and opened

 

up his bedroll, but there were only pictures

 

and a letter from his ma.

 

 

And as we crossed those scrubby plains,

 

we knew we’d hear from Lea no more, nor

 

need to watch his shuffling gait or listen to

 

his lies. It was Jake grabbed his tobacco and

 

me that snatched his beans, and now

 

it’s forty years gone by, and I guess

 

 I’m doomed to burn, but hear me out before

 

I go because it seems only fair. You should

 

have pat me on the back to let me know

 

that you were there. So, if you find me galling

 

and fit to fan hell’s flames, remember that you

 

watched me fall, yet never graced me with your call.