Poetry - Clem

I picked up a stray west of Detroit he called himself Clem

He had slit eyes and a lady’s stocking cap on his head

“Mother" was tattooed in red on the right side of his face

And "J-E-S-U-S" was tattooed on the knuckles of his left hand



Clem had a hair lip and a slight twitch that distracted me

His small Gideon Bible was held close to his chest

And he swore using words that I had never heard

But I knew they were bad by the way that he said them



His age was hard to pin down, perhaps 20's perhaps 30's

And he talked a blue streak about conversion peppered with smut

Finally I broke in and asked him where exactly he was going

Milwaukee" he said "to the unofficial Jeffrey Dahmer museum"



He smacked his lips and smiled, rolled a joint and leaned back

“Want a toke?" "No thanks" I said "Blow the smoke out the window"

My Chevy Cobalt was cruising smoothly on the long dark highway

I looked intently in the glare for the exit that Clem told me he wanted



He leaned over and asked me "Do you love your Mother?"

Not wanting to give a wrong answer I stated "She's dead"

Oh" he breathed in and on the exhale came "You love Jesus?"

I couldn't say Jesus was dead so I said "Doesn't everyone?"



Clem laughed a stoned laugh and hit my arm "You're alright.

Keep looking for exit 95. I'm looking out for exit 95"

Soon enough we were at exit 93 and Clem was looking happy

Two miles later we pulled over and he lingered at the open door



I gotta a good feeling about you Roy. You're goin' to heaven"

What could I say? "Thank you" I half muttered out loud

No Roy, I mean you're goin' up to the pearly gates tonight

And with that he reached into his coat pocket and...BANG