Autobiography – News from Another Past Tribe

I heard that a few years ago, R. died 
of a heroin overdose
                     (What a 
modern white male way to go).
                              C. was with 
him and has since not touched the shit, good for 
you, C.

          I think of R. every time 
I hear AC/DC.  R. wore trucker 
caps without the slightest irony. He 
just liked them. Did R. ever have a chance?
His ginger ‘fro-like coiffure and freckles 
betrayed his shanty Irish, maybe Scots-
Irish, antecedents

                       I wonder if 
R. would have been as susceptible if 
he were allowed to be proud of where he 
came from beyond just listening to the 
occasional tune by David Allen 
Coe or Johnny Rebel.
                        Even way back 
then, they were taking away what was left 
of Southern pride

                      I guess a country boy 
couldn’t survive

                     I too busy posing, 
trying to forget where I came from, to 
see what was really going on around 
me,
    Looking homeward and seeing no angels.

But ‘home’ is not home anymore;
                                       Home is 
halfway around the world now with a new 
accent, straddling the line between middle- 
and working class
                      Aware of potential 
wasted and the solemn compromises 
made, and exhausted from my inaction.

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