Poem: Unforgiven

[Poet of Ephraim]

My friends keep my "Wanted" sign, sentiment changed,
Secured in a gold frame, well-inked and still stained. 
As I roll back into town, I hear their friendly salutations,
Like free air between iron bars of friendly allegations. 
I'll drink what I'm given, in the seat they saved for me, 
They skim over my travels to coax out an old story. 
And when they hear it they'll groan "he'll never change", 
My visage darkened to them, backlit by that frame.

~Poet of Ephraim