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By Stan Levin
IT IS MY FAULT
I was not a good kid,
not at home
not at school.
Once I slapped my first grade teacher
and she slapped me back.
I did not like school
and I did not like kids
who liked school
I’m not smart.
I did not like smart kids
Two high schools threw me out
I couldn’t get a good job.
As soon as I could
I left school
I left home
I left the neighborhood
and everything I was mad at.
I went
in the Army.
I had a job
I had clean clothes
I had a clean cot
I ate three times a day
I thought I was happy
I learned bad stuff in the Army
I was good at the bad stuff
The Army took me to a country
I can’t even spell
where I did bad things
Very bad
To people who were not trying to hurt me.
I can’t forget
I wish to God I could take it back
I wish to God I could forget
but I can’t
The VA said I have PTSD
I don’t have no job now.
I don’t have nowhere to live
I want a shower
I want to go to the bathroom
I don’t have no clean clothes
Sometimes I recycle beer cans
Sometimes I beg, Sometimes I steal
Once, when I was hurting a lot
my friend gave me some pills
I felt better right away.
Now, I’m always looking for where I can get me
some more of them pills
because I hurt
all over
all the time
I’m cold
I’m hungry
I been to Emergency a few times
I been busted by the cops
for doin’ nothing
I been to jail
One night, when I was asleep
on my Beautyrest cardboard mattress
Two guys woke me up
I seen them here and there around the neighborhood
I don’t know who they are
I don’t know where they come from
They are not cops
They are not preachers
They talked with me
a little while
like I was a real person
They gave me some stuff,
and especially a sleeping bag.
I think God sent them
I think about the words of
Old Man River …
Ah gits weary
and sick a tryin’
Ah’m tired a livin’
and scared a dyin’
That would be me, alright
I’m real tired
I’m sick
and I’m scared
Nobody loves me,
nobody cares if I live or die
What’s the use
I’ll soon be twenty-eight years old
I love this poem, Stan.
Hey, it doesn’t rhyme.