Ricky Lynn Never Went Anywhere

Just sat on a dirty, bare mattress

in his mom's detached garage

beneath windows spray painted black
the only light, a television.


His all consuming passions

huffing paint, and sometimes glue

cultivating his heavy-metal hair

his mediocre mustache,

and Metallica.


We came to visit

watched him drool,

the silvery thread

tying him to our world.


Sometimes his momma

would beat on the door,

"Gawdammit Ricky Lynn!

Did you steal my oven cleaner again?

And when are you gettin' a job? "


I would laugh,

trace paint drips

with my fingertip

and steal his cigarettes.


Ricky Lynn yelled back

"No one's home!

And I ain't cut out for workin'!"

It sounded like the truth,

to me.