OUTSIDE SCRANTON by A. Gates
James was a boy,
Depressed and lonely.
Happy to go with Tripp
Riding in cars getting high
Enough to eat the box.
Incredible doughnuts.
He stood in the snow
With a quiet voice
Too sad to fake apathy
Telling tall tales about penny arcades in Baltimore.
Taking time to lean his head back against the bar booth
Finishing lines to stories he overheard.
Shouting slurred "knapsack"s into a pretty girl's ears
While she took measures to help him walk.
And he shot the mutt.
Memorized the suicides.
And he's one in a million,
The best writer since The Arsonist's Daughter.
Writing stories about prize fighters and Love Parades,
Earning accolades that come in the form
Of the best professor calling at the top of his lungs
For the lonely and sad student to "take a bow, James!"
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