Pay close attention so I can sell you my life.
I'll circumnavigate, but this was my day.
"Yes Ma'am, Debbie. I'll see you Sunday."
Then only, learn the bus won't run.
Five mile hike, leave real early.
I'm the neon sign in the dark desert horizon.
I know Christians don't judge.
Am I sure I heard them watching?
Perhaps all ex-cons do suffer post-traumatic stress.
I can't afford an evaluation.
Exit to inclemency.
Why beg for pity when God gave me health.
I grab a chicken now my hand is exposed.
Spray embraces then dances with me to the music of wind and tire friction.
Head bowed so won't see how others look.
My feet are swimming, but there are only three miles to go.
I sigh, ignore my aches, and revel in hope.
Maybe in a month I'll earn an advance.
Not even beggars have job security.
Now, I'm smiling with gratitude for willpower.
And, thanks for your patronage.