he’s got long blond hair
(the kind of yellowness that comes from the sun)
wears all black sometimes
looking like a cross between night and day
hardly ever speaks
preferring to listen and watch
writes beautiful letters to people he barely knows
he looks like no one’s brother
but in the backroads of his past
there was a mother and a father and a home
(smiles like he once belonged somewhere)
he drives a 1951 green chevy to the places
where he hides
and there is no one here
who understands any part of him
StoryGirl 