JOE D
2007-05-16 - 1:00 p.m.

before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

JOE D

He was

the white-trash

product of incestuous rape,

raised by his grandmother

as though she was his mom,

angry, as all incestuous progeney are,

with unquenchable rage,

stupid, gangly,

eyes placed close together in his forehead,

he was only tangenitally connected to any sort of family,

who would storm in

and out of his life,

without a doubt,

every bit as unstable as he.

Joe D, I tried.

Your grandmother died

and you had nothing,

no one, but I found you a home,

a caring old couple to take you in,

and you befouled their nest,

destroyed their faith,

as I could have probably guessed,

you would do so in the end.

I fineagled you in,

bending the rules, gaining assent from your

careless FIA case-worker,

he an abstentee land-lord at best,

signing on the dotted line

to let you in,

and you,

you blew it.  You had a second chance at a life,

and I told you this.

"This is your chance at a fresh start in a new life,"

but the tempestuous storms of your incestuous nature,

wouldnt let you rest,

until you wreaked the wreck and ruin

of any opportunity life afforded you,

at 17, figuring it was all over anyway,

my words falling on deaf ears

and a dull mind.

The old man, trying to convince me he could be stern,

such a lovely couple, I had high hopes,

but deep down I knew,

I had to know

how it would go,

how it would end,

but by then,

I was out the door,

mailing it in,

my last contact a phone call,

telling them I was done,

and someone else would be the liason

for his incestuous dumb cruelty.

"We want him gone," she hissed into the phone,

but I was gone,

in heart,

in body,

and in mind.