XIV.

He wasn’t scared of his shadow.

Mine hitched a ride when I left, and

no backroad or highway 

could keep it from finding me. 

Each new city, every motel bed and sublet apartment

felt like an escape.

But a fugitive is always on the run.

He never ran. 

No, he used to stand in the sun

arms spread

yelling,

Come get me, motherfuckers.

--Scarecrow