Two summers ago I was walking down the road behind my old apartment on South Court Street. That house was a trip � built in 1776, it was painted bright pink. Apart from electric lights, three and a half electric sockets, and plumbing, it was the same as it was in the early 1800�s� even down to the paint and dust that never seemed to vacuum away.
Now usually, I mind my own business, but I found a boy lying on the side of the road
Pratt Street
just below Prospect Park
a small park - with a forty foot statue of Roger Williams - overlooking the whole cityscape & I wonder if old Roger saw that pair of feet sticking in the road & the rest of him crumpled on the side walk.
When I stopped a lady was dialing 911 on her cell phone, Hell I don't blame her - a kid lookin dead on a back alley street
but I told her to hold on, he was a friend of mine, I risked the lie
but a person lying on the side of the road in the college area of the city with dark hair Could be a friend of mine or even Jason
So I put my hand on him and I shook him and I said "Jason, Jason you all right?" & he slurred "yeah, yeah, but my names Chandler" & it turns out he wasn't dead after all or Jason or a friend of mine just a stranger taking a rest and I did lie after all
So the lady takes off in a red SUV & I help Chandler sit on the wall on the side of the road
he musta weighed a hundred pounds - real light - we share a smoke & he gets out - he has no job - he used to work at the Hot Club
He used to go to school
somehow he lost his belt - he couldn't find his wallet & I never did find out what he was on or where he lived
& yeah, I shoulda bought him a coffee
but I had no money
gave him a ride
but I had no gas
let the lady call a cop
but I hate to see a kid spend the night in jail
I coulda took him home but I really didn't care that much
Yeah, I shoulda told him if his head were in the street instead of his legs - that lady with the phone didn't block the road he'd be dead like a lotta people his age
The city coulda swallowed him up & if this was where I came from, there'd be a white cross where he was.
back home, there are no side walks, he'd have his own car because living there is cheap & he'd be curled around a tree
his clothes would be hanging from the branches
his friends would be laying down flowers at the base of a torn up bark-less trunk
splinters
Here in Providence all you'll get is rolled for change, arrested, shot...
Old Roger could have reached down & made him lost forever
Just like anywhere else...
Instead he got found by a pseudo samaritan walkin below the park & all I gave him was a camel
an hour of watchin
small talk he won't remember
& When he finnaly straitened up enough to walk off, I mumbled 'lucky bastard' & walked myself home
Like I said I mind my own business.
