Tattoos in Mayberry

51,917 poems read

Town folk say they're through
makin' beer runs for you.
It's time to make a stand.
You have 100 roads ahead of you
but none of them have plans.
Your base camp's among the bulrushes
near the town where we were born.
You were once it's favored Son
now you are it's thorn.

Old friends have grown weary
of your cries
of anger and despair.
Outside their doors
they see you slummin'
but none of them are there.
Here, your problems are your problems
until you're pushed onto some new lair.
A man amongst the millions,
The lonesome-est dove of all
No more beer runs are forthcomin'
before you walk
you'll have to crawl.

Erased are fond memories,
and great hopes for you
in the town
where we grew tall
and true as corn
You were once,
it's favored Son
Now you are it's thorn.

Should we feel pity
as you weave through traffic
like some drunken clown?
Wearing your impediments
like a Royal Crown.
You sidle off to mingle carelessly
on The Avenue Of Shame.
You chose the easy road
you know you did.
Who, but you
is there to blame?
So many roads ahead of you
All roads lead to the end..
A man amongst the millions
Without a single friend to call.
No beer runs are forthcoming
Before you walk
you'll have to crawl.

Laid out on soggy card board
a  211 clutched  in  bony, brittle, hands.
Your pant legs, mud encrusted.
Your socks layered in wet sand.
All paths are blocked ahead of you.
Without a marching band.
A man amongst the millions
A lonesome dove and all
Do you know why
I'll make your next beer run
You won't even have to
haggle, beg, or bawl.
Before we've learned to walk
old friend
we've 'all' had to learn
to crawl.

Buddy Bee Anthony

All rights reserved as is by author

Comment On This Poem ---
Before You Walk, You`ll Have To Crawl