Vagabond Trilogy Poem by Raj Dronamraju

I'll make up these deaths to you
Periods of death where we lay face down
And showed our corpse skin to the world
Like an armadillo rolling up in a ball for defense
I will make it up to you how we ate instant noodles and collected bottles and cans and took long walks by the river because it was both interesting and free
I will make it up to you that the only thing we bought new was time which we promptly wasted taking for granted it would always replenish itself
You cried on the elevator because you thought I had mental illness
You cried on the elevator because you thought I had lost it
I'll make a homeless cuddle, a temporary supplication to the forces that dispossess modest complacency

I will give you the road not well maintained
Filled with holes and debris
Closer to hell's intentions with each mileage marker
I will give you whatever meager prey I ran down on 48 year old legs
I will become persona non grata to those living by the totalitarian blueprint
I will give you feelings of superiority
And a stretched out empowerment serenade
Better people ask for privacy
And space out on fantasies of things they will never get
I will build you a fort and we'll take turns on watch
Here come the absconders of mortality
They expect you and me to get jobs
They expect you and me to hold jobs
I will make up for what we never have with joviality, dance parties, and skin products