She Didn’t Have a Name
On a typical day
I get yelled at
For watering the lawn
And called a piece of shit
As I walk to the liquor store
Where the clerk doesn't
Call me chief anymore
That’s alright
I don’t like the idea of him either
Or that the police want to ask me
If I’ve ever done meth
As I sit on the curb
Because I don’t have a gun
And they get their girlish thrills
By asking me stupid questions
While fumbling with my nuts
But just when you think
There is no God
And that the world is shit
You meet a 20-year-old
Schizophrenic poet
Who has been writing
For several lifetimes
And she knows how
To give shape to all the dark
Non-reality bullshit
That we kill each other with daily
Because she believes
That there is a God
And that life
Can be completely
Fucking shitty
But doesn't have to be
If one is willing
To endure
And believe
David Burdett
6/27/2021