The Burden of Being Tate

by Walt Kosty


see brady see brady now
a ghost of tulsa’s flitting past
wandering the old streets
without aim ambition or regret
he sleeps on a tattered cowl
beneath the cool concrete bridge
that covers the tracks
takes long pulls of cheap hooch
to drown the sounds
of his sotto voce mutterings
(ah wanna let it go ah wanna let it go
but ah cain’t but ah cain’t but ah cain’t)
he’s got a bullet stuck in his temple
a stone lodged in his heart
as the bitter taste of time
sours in the back of his throat
memories he just can’t spit out

Originally published in This Land, Vol. 4 Issue 18. Sept. 15, 2013.