diary of a sensitive youth
richard perkins
In Cody
I remember the woman with no teeth who was crying.
I wanted to give her a couple of cigarettes
Or maybe even the whole pack
But then I wouldn't have any, so I kept them,
And moved on.
In Spokane
I was living at the park with the other homeless people.
Me and my friend were showing off
To the college girls that passed by
But I got tired of that
So I climbed a cliff about thirty feet high
And when I stood on top I could see the whole city
And when I looked down I saw a kid about my age
Wearing black Converse shoes
His body covered by a ripped orange tarp.
His hands were on his stomach, cradling his severed head
And I thought, well, at least you can't feel anything -
But I wasn't sure who I was talking to.
I couldn't speak for a couple of days after that,
And one night, by the fire,
I saw that I was wearing black Converse shoes,
Wrapped in a salmon-colored poncho
And I knew that I would never talk again
If I stayed here, so I got up,
And moved on.
Outside Spokane
I gave a woman my last five dollars because she looked like
The woman in Cody who I wanted to give cigarettes to.
But even after she had the money,
People still turned their heads from her in shame
And I thought, what difference does this really make?
Five dollars might last half-a-day,
And then she'll still be the same anyway.
I was totally broke now, and I wished
I hadn't given all my money away, so I made a note,
And I moved on.
In Denver
I was sleeping at a friend's place
When I heard gunfire and jumped up and remembered,
Oh yeah, this is Denver, and went back to sleep
Not to bothered by the drive-by-shooting.
In the morning
I heard that a little boy had been shot in the cross fire.
I was sad in a way
And wanted to do something to help.
Three weeks later, I was still there,
Unable to think of any way to help, but I heard
He had gotten better anyway and I felt better,
So I lit up a found, half-cigarette, inhaled,
And began moving on.
