Charlie and Rag

Rag ties his shoelaces while waiting for the sun
behind the railroad tracks of noise
while passing trains shake his toys
and always wake the other boys
to morning when they go looking for some fun.
And I hear them stirring when the bed posts creek
as Shawn’s harmonica weeps for Rag and
for that strange man who took them in that week.
And I’ll be joining them for some.

They’ve taken their plastic guns out to shoot
the glass bottles on the empty route
where they’re stuck on curbs to sit
like an outfit of badlands misfits
until his landlord comes and gives them all the boot.
But if they still want it, he’ll play his guitar
for all these state wards near and far, but lo they go
and hop the brick wall at “the cave” spot
that works to plant these hotshots.

Now I watch them touch their shadow’s place
on the brick wall crossing the yard.
They’ve played their final deck of cards
and realize life is gonna get hard
just watching the addict scratch the attic of his face.
But even though he’s just a loner they all start
passing around that boner’s stoner to take
the edge off life and hide it away with that guy’s knife
so he can live for one more day.

So Rag lives beneath the stairs an orphan beat
in the enclave trash and old concrete
when he used to live on Elm Street—
now he’s too scared of any treat
because the drugs make him live his life like meat.
See, the bricks made him lose his feet but he still
gets one in the sheet with Charlie and Zach
by the school after he excretes the world’s waste
knowing nothing of defeat.

NEXT

--Farewell Frat Row