Equinox

I was sitting there at your table
A face that was unfamiliar
uncommon
and unnecessary

I was
in the way
a glitch in the sub-routine
of your morning breakfast ritual

You didn't recognize me
as you moved in on the spot
where I was sitting
without so much as a smile
a handshake or
a kiss my ass

I don't look local
despite having
lived in your town
shopped in your stores
played with your children
and drunk beer next to you
for more than
five years

My reality
does
not
compute

I don't look
homeless

I don't look
broke

I don't look
scared

I bear no indication that
a month ago I escaped the
whirlwind with
only the clothes on my back
my friend's van
and a shaggy dog named
Roxanne
or that everything
I own is in that little white
car sitting by the curb

I am back in your tiny
town for only one reason

I have no other place to go

I am not your
weekly charity case
for I don't bear the
expected complexion
and I don't meet your
designated criteria

You probably sent a donation
to the Red Cross
Or the United Way
Or maybe even the
New Orleans Musicians Clinic

But you won't buy me a cup of coffee
Offer me a seat at your table
or ask how I'm doing
today

Like me
You didn't vote for George Bush
But the redneck Tennessee Republican
did

A guy I met while buying beer at
Freddy's Bar Grill and Drive Through Package Store
(no liquor no guns and no bad attitudes)
on the side of a mountain road through
Cherokee County Tennessee

He was
more friendly
more kind
more interested
more real
and more polite
than all your liberal
pretensions are capable
of even imagining from
inside that
carefully constructed
perfectly manicured
safely insulated
left-coast
mystique

"I hope your people are all right"
he said

"Thanks" I said

We both smiled
as I patted him on
the shoulder

The moon was nearly full over the mountain
Fog drifted low on the highway
I was headed east