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Array
(
[sid] => 166019
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Miracle
[time] => 2011-04-26 00:09:29
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Seven in the morning, headed home One way ticket, like a predator drone. Cars all dirty low on gas Snow all around, no sight of grass. Pull into Mobil, $3.07 Would've had better luck at 7-11. Get out of the car and what do I see Ashamed home boy he afraid to be. He asked to clean my car, take out the garbage Hopin he's not a counterspionage. Have at it son, take your time I brought him out a soda, lime. Walkin the streets with a shoppin' cart Wishin' his family didn't take part Of the every day struggle called the marriage mart. Killin time with a broken heart Lookin and hoping for something with a kick start. Dodging bottles and words of slander. Everyone to him is like a lieutenant commander. Screamin' yellin' you don't live here Go back to your shack and your destroyed liver. Looking for help, sticks out his hand They look at him like he's a brigand. Sitting on the bench he turns and cry's Feeling helpless, none the less unwise. Next to the river in a beat up tent Made from tarp and his lements. Sits by the fire on the lookout Starts to rain, puts out his cookout. Crawls inside to escape the rain Got a lot of things on the brain. Like what to do, go to school Get a job, no more living like a slob. Now enrolled in community school Finally getting treated, Golden Rule. Graduation day, he's asked to speak Voted most likely to succeed. He tells the people his life story As he stares at the Old Glory. Once homeless and on the streets Getting used to great defeats. Now he's standing there tellin you He's on his way to the Kentucky Blue. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 110 [topic] => 31 [informant] => Florida [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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