I got the news on the satellite phone:
Jason, come home, Jason, dear,
I heard it on the forest floor.
Six years of back country trails to the lake,
Machete and snake, machete I learned
To cradle in the Old State Park.
Roosevelt, '33, he had a plan
For every young man:
Give him an ax and a seed;
Give him a pack and a tree;
Teach him to care for himself;
Give him fresh air for his health;
Send money back to family.
Back to Baltimore,
The tallboy convenience store,
The indifferent, the endless war.
And I know what that is,
And I know what that is,
And I don't need it anymore,
But I have to go home.
Luke was the son of some well-to-do folk;
My family was broke, but we became friends,
The parking lot, the chewed up field.
I started in the park just as he was going in,
A hard eight to ten for selling to kids;
My momma worked the county jail.
Roosevelt's Tree Army, under the sun,
The work would be done while America
Bled by the greed of the rich,
The boys planted trees and found God in the pitch,
They stared at the sod in each fist—
Why am I telling you this?
Is it that I'm nervous to be going back?
Back to Baltimore,
The tallboy convenience store,
The indifferent, the endless war.
And I know what that is,
And I know what that is,
And I don't need it anymore,
But I have to go home.
Luke, I guess, got himself into a fight,
Took him to the infirmary later that night,
Nothing serious, sure, but next morning he died,
Then the satellite phone with the crew,
Which meant I didn't cry.
I'm taking the train to take time for my thoughts,
Pregnant with loss, preparing for all
The things that maybe make you feel.
I'll pay my respects and then I'll take a walk,
The neighborhood block,
And then I will leave.