RICHARD DEVALL - HEPATITIS C

Richard DeVall is the author of Old Letters and New Demons and Pablo’s Apprentice. An excerpt of Old Letters and New Demons was published in the December issue of RumbleFish Press Magazine.

​Hepatitis C

Pregnant Girls Smoking
Orphaned wales floating
A bag filled with freshly sprayed silver paint was glued to your passed out face
And now years later – after the linen tux – and shiny trucks – you rewrote history – without the spray
The kids today – the black lives matter – the anti-Trump chatter - it’s all rubbing you the wrong way
You’re now bathed in the blood
Certain of the path – a shiny new past – those needle point - stitched tales – shredded and tossed and now look at you - you’re cloaked in all those sweat filled hours – a childhood marked and sealed by hard work and no complaining – forget the fact you married well – you did it all, and all you tell, is something vague with little depth in your explaining
Behind you – those millennial kids you had with your second wife roll their eyes – at Thanksgiving they try to be polite and hide all the things that they despise
Pass the gravy – and deep inside will Jesus save me? 
You’re nearing the gate – you’re in the queue – closer to the edge – remember your pills and forget those long ago forgotten thrills – that wasn’t you that guy I knew  
Who are we really - when we run from our past so fast we’re reeling
It’s the part of us - that was not so smart of us - and yet it was so cool -to not care - because death was not everywhere and so far away it wasn’t there
Now it’s wise to exercise and those who don’t or won’t or can’t turn to fat and you mustn’t shame that 
Everyone gets a prize - it’s so clean and nice and sterilized
And the earth we ruined with all our smoke and acid and chemicals is getting pissed
But profits – you believe in the bottom line – count every dime - that third quarter can’t be missed
You won’t see him hug a tree – he’s photographing, with his phone,everything he owns - he’s so vigilant to document all of it – but the picture he sends, to outer space, is of a face, before time had had its way – a face I remember- and one I knew - when we used to play with silver paint in paper bags and sometimes glue ​