The Guardian

I lack collateral on the parts I've loaned you
If you've seen any tell them I'm incomplete
Without knowing where they are
Or what they're doing
If they're wandering the streets
Cold and hungry
Stopping in shame against the better judgments they no longer need
Begging for mercy,
a half hour of your time,
a ride home
If they've taken up another trade
In your restless presence
If they are being resourceful
With time
With money
If they are careful to lock their doors
And not talk to strangers
Tell them I'm sorry I didn't teach them any better
And that I love them
And I want them to come home
Show them how confused I was to give them up
How ancient I've grown in their absence
Taking life like a shot with a grain of salt
But never sell them on manipulated bliss
The water draining from my veins as you told me
I've had this fever my whole life-
don't wait for it to break
Skeptically breathing in the same space
Shield them.