He needs a place to live, so his father buys him a house.
Mid-40s, pale and lanky, black mohawk a foot high.

lost electrons—
the sweet boy
he used to be

The heavy metal gravy train passed him by.
Still, he drums and wails daily, an unsung genius.

on a roll
wheeling trash cans
to the curb

Writing his autobiography, Ion roams the tract,
tracing circles in the dirt, staring into space.

parole violations
the tired click
of handcuffs

Six weeks in jail, then back to the same old,
same old—Uber rides to the store and rehab.

3 a.m. moonwalk
on the highway—
swift deliverance

Cynthia Anderson

lives in the Mojave Desert. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Spillway, Crab Creek Review, Apercus, Askew, San Pedro River Review, Mojave River Review, The Coil, and Split Rock Review, among others. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. She is the author of nine poetry collections and co-editor of the anthology A Bird Black As the Sun: California Poets on Crows & Ravens.

Author’s website: www.cynthiaandersonpoet.com