© 2004  Skip Shea

The Path

As I was roaming the woods

in the midnight dark

and the full moon shade

of the trees

I stayed faithful to the path

and guide book of this region

A man, a stranger, bumped

into me

Slamming my right shoulder

HARD

knocking his lit Camel

from his right hand

into the pine needles

igniting and smoldering

the needles

He was moving the opposite direction

as I was, going to

where I had once been

or so I thought

for I had never turned around

to see my past steps

I hadn't seen him coming

my head bent 90 degrees

down

counting the eyes

on my shoes

"Good Lord!" I shouted

as I smelled the bourbon

breathing back into my face,

his bourbon

and stale smoke

"Good Lord"

he replied

"Hmmmmmm"

with his thumb and index finger

conducting Bach on his chin

"If Jesus had to die for our sins"

he continued as he glanced

at his flames

showing the years of concern

carved into his face

"wouldn't it make sense

to make Judas a Saint?"

he asked lighting

another Camel

drawing in as deep

as the night

as long as my life

"Do you think he's treated good

in Heaven?"

He had stopped me

"Oh, I'm sure he's there

he must be

the plan wouldn't have worked

without him!"

He met my eye

And saw the hole through me

"Do you think he's

treated good?"

"Like they may

treat you?"

and he was gone

without a breeze

or snap of a branch

or glimmer of hope

"I sure as hell hope so"

was all I could think

all I could say

as I watched the fire grow

bringing warmth

and light

and confusion

I had lost my direction

my way

which wasn't mine

"I sure as hell hope so"

All poems are copyrighted property of Skip Shea.

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