Darryl Willis’ most recent poem to appear here was “Year Four” (November 2016)
By Darryl Willis
An empty bottle’s on the floor
but the spirits haven’t left.
They force their way into my brain,
clouding and yet strangely clear.
My best friend was blown to hell
while I picked up a little shrapnel.
I’m trying my best to understand
why I’m alive and why he’s dead.
I thought Rashid was my friend.
We traded jokes. He always smiled.
But I shot him in his face
as he shouted to his god.
His AK-47 smelled
with too much brother-blood.
Now I’m found in some field
where I drove off a rural road.
Even the cops keep their space.
The .45 is on my dash
and a preacher on my cell.
He listens well, I’ll give him that.
Perhaps I’ll let him talk me down
to join my spirit friends to haunt
the broken soul of someone else.