Posted: June 17, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,



It could have been my son,
I thought, as I read the front page story.
Police had arrested a woman in Chesterfield
For murder in the overdose death of a friend.
The cops said the 19 year-old woman
Invited the young man to her home
For a party with booze and pills
And a recently bought stash of heroin.
Their night of unbridled ecstasy ended
With him shaking on the living room floor.

Cops said the young woman
Was too scared to call for help,
Waiting until her friend was still
Before calling 911,
Hoping, I suppose, no one
Would hold her responsible.
But evidence uncovered in the next few weeks
Unveiled email messages in which
She bragged she had just scored some smack
And invited her friend over to party.

Wow, I thought,
That could have been my son.
Then I got a phone call.
“Hey, Dad,” my daughter said,
“Did you read today’s paper?
That girl, she used to live with Matt.”

Jeez, I thought, and read the story again.
Hailee, the girl’s name was Hailee.
I remember seeing her once when
I stopped at the house where I had let my son
Crash as he attempted to get back on his feet.
“That’s Hailee,” Matt said,
Pointing to a lump under a blanket
On a stained couch in the filthy living room.
He told me he was just helping her 
And another roommate kick drugs.
When he saw me glance at an empty vodka bottle
Sitting on the kitchen floor,
He quickly added, “Oh yeah,
All we do now is a little drinking.”

A few weeks later, I checked Matt into a halfway house
After he was attacked by the other roommate,
An ex-con skinhead, during a night of drugs and booze.
He threw a TV at my son and was later arrested
For assault and parole violation.
The next day Matt decided to burn and cut himself
Just to see if he could feel something real.
He’d finally hit his bottom.

Hailee moved out while Matt detoxed
And we closed up the house.
I  hadn’t thought of her
Until the news of her arrest.
The homicide happened a month
After my son got straight and,
As I read the story for the third time,
My phone rang again.

“Dad, did you see the paper?”
My son asked when I answered.
“Damn, that could’ve been me.”

                                                 By David Allen



Like my poetry? Then buy my book, “The Story So Far,” published by Writers Ink Press, Long Island, N.Y. You can find it on ( in paperback and Kindle formats, or by sending me $10 at:

David Allen
803 Avalon Lane
Chesterfield, IN 46017

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