PERSONA NON GRATA

I saw him bummin' around,
his guitar draggin' the ground,
as though he were going nowhere
or he just wasn't there.

He passed by the windows
of places where he's been banned,
looking back in on people
who'd lined-up to shake his hand.

Persona Non Grata
slipped between the strata.

There was this girl he was seeing:
he'd loved her with all of his being,
but she'd had an agenda –
a post-script to him, with addenda.

All the women, post-her,
disappointed, could not see
his disappointment in them
was that they were not she.

Love of His Life,
someone else's wife.

He could have been famous,
but he never he felt quite the same as
those who rose out of that mess
perfumed in success.

Here in the future,
what should he do now?
Cry-out, "Come back,
I'm ready for you now?"

Has-Been never was;
it's that way "because."

Too much had been hung
on the back of being so young,
when what seemed like nonsense
became permanent consequence.

Older now, he wants
to announce a new age;
instead, he's proclaiming
that nostalgia is sewage:

"Forget what was you –
there's still more to do."

© 2013 Steve Fitch