Halfway House
Disclaimer: this poem or piece of writing is inspired my experience working for a conservation corp. My perspective is purely subjective
On work assignment
Toss away the wine and stuff the meager amount of bread you’re
provided with
Call them massa or call them your superiors
Regardless, you’re under watch
I often wonder
Where did we escape from
Where had I been sentenced?
You’re a poor man begging for the future
Working to restore the environment through a variety of means
Repairing trails, pulling invasives, vertical mulching, and on
and on and on
Consider it community service
But I’m avoiding the heart of the matter
We furnish this house as much as possible
Put up paintings, posters
Laid down the rug, on top of the “law” that’s been stitched
Every week, we have a cleaning party to keep the place in check, sorting everything out and scrubbing every last inch
Only time I’m allowed on the Aux
We have fun, and everything’s chill
But I don’t know any of y’all… like that, really
I only live with a third of y’all
When we’re out on assignment, I work with another third of y’all
After hitch, spike the ball, whatever the fuck this is called
We return to the warehouse for de-rig and I see everyone
It’s disorienting and alienating
I’m constantly asking myself
Do I know these people?
Have I met these people?
When you walk through the ghost town
You don’t have to worry about tripping over branches, the sidewalk,
slanted stones
Punch a hole through the wall of a run-down cafe
It blends right in
The grave is the town square
and there’s not much of a radius outside of that
But at least, nothing’s in flux
The county police ride around once in a while and only that
Here, you can get your “term” extended for just eyeballing a pack
of cigarettes
The rules are never as straightforward as they should be
I felt freer in an actual prison
My cellmates there felt like brothers
I didn’t struggle to fit in
Sitting down at those crusty tables with the boys
Eating lunch with the limited options was a blessing
Don’t worry about the size of the prison
You’ll get old enough and you’ll realize you’re in a prison
wherever you go
The warden can be self-limiting beliefs
But the points I make still stand
It’s a pattern, being on the outside in, but nonetheless
still stuck with the shit I have to deal with
I can’t relate to any of these people, I don’t fit in and I never will,
plainly said
The small talk that comes up when we’re out in the field working is akin to
popping bubbles just as they’re blown, an endless cycle
Might as well resign myself to picking up litter and whistling old tunes on the side of the highway for the rest of my life
Nature is violent, a friend once told me, but humanity can be even more cruel
Can I be a free man and find my place in the world?
Will I ever get it right?
Residual digestive issues coming from hitch food certainly won’t help
I shine in individual moments, but the larger frame is a little crooked
I don’t even know what I’m going to do after my term is over
Might as well make friends with the wall
But sadly, I can’t take it home with me
Are there any answers to solve my conundrum?
I have to pull off the mask, or find the right one to put in
Stranded emotionally in the middle of nowhere
I’m only halfway to understanding
