Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 03/29/21

A Bitter Root

He was good ‘til he wasn’t
youthful foolishness
wide-eyed; toothy grin
a lion’s mane
skin like steel
bones like dust

He was carried by his dreams
fame and fortune
stars in his eyes
carved in the night
a slave to lust
a slave to life

He was salvaged from intent
fine tailored suits
a house on a hill
grass clipped weekends
drive time radio
drive time rage

He was hopelessly hopeful
youthful recollection
nostalgic daydreams
a grave robber’s score
misplaced gold
misplaced gain

He was good
a desert son
a bitter root
bloodshot red
sunspot skin
chafed soul

G.W. Allison was born in Michigan, raised wherever the pursuit of happiness took his family, was a USN swabbie for four years, worked on a shrimp boat, quit college, slaved away in corporate America, was a rock-n-roll roadie, traveled the world with a camera on his shoulder, sold some writing, screeched into Hollywood with a horror script, and wrote two books. He’s a screenwriter, poet, and author of The Final Round and There is a Season.

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