Midnight Fugitive

[couchgrouch]

Midnight FugitiveJack drove back to Barstow, straight from Wisconsinwhere that rapist was hiding, in some Howard Johnson'she thumbed through the papers, piled up on his deska night full of boredom, followed the thrill of riskJack tracked wanted felons, who skipped on their bondshe rarely asked questions, it's business...not right or wrongthen a court clerk brought a photo, of some gal who jumped bailblack n blue left cheekbone, twist-tie pony-taila midnight fugitiveon the lamb from fatethat's no way to livebut for some it's too latefortune is what it isso will God forgivethe midnight fugitiveit seemed that lady's husband, thought it was manlyto load up on Beefeater, then beat on his fam'lythey found him at the landfill, in a coffin of cardboardsomeone with a nailgun, used him for a dartboardwell Jack's a one-man posse, so he poured some coffeethen hopped in his old Malibukiller on the run, so riding shotgunwas a forty-five caliberbut twenty years had filled, his heart with pessimismso he ran from sleep and home, as if they were prisonslike a midnight fugitiveon the lamb from fatethat's no way to livebut for some it's too latefortune is what it isso will God forgivethe midnight fugitivehe sniffed around and traced her, to her sister's in Bakersfieldmatchbook on her sister's table, for a bar called the Nineteenth Wheelit's a joint for truckers, ten miles outta towncos women are the smoothest wheel, that makes the world go 'roundJack found that poor gal dancing, with a tear in her heartfour year old in the back room, and a g-string tip jarhe wrapped that photo in a fifty, stuffed it in her stringcalled the clerk back in Barstow, said she got away cleanas a midnight fugitiveon the lamb from fatethat's no way to livebut for some it's too latefortune is what it isso will God forgivethe midnight fugitive(c)2005 Robert George