My Poem about Transition House

Feel free to critique it or just leave feedback.
I really enjoyed the experience and will volunteer again before Thanksgiving if anyone wants to join me.
-Meagan

Transition House 10.21.05

Go, type anything you want I told her,
her round face glowing red from her nappy hair’s
halo. hello my name is debra
no period, no caps.

Debra, fourty-three hadn’t typed since junior
high. 700-t cells last months and now
GED-bound she is determined to
rid herself of the real disease that consumes her mind.

this is my bookreport “coping with anxiety”
She types on with her two index fingers
while I listen to the rain hit
the window of the half-way house.

i was too involved with my mess to care
about my kids Cocaine, marijuana,
alcohol, crack cocaine – my addictions
she tells me between twitches.

Her hometown, Miami, same as mine I say.
You went to Miami Senior High?
So did my mom. She’s only a few years
older than you.
No, I lived in overtown she says.
Where people sleep under I-95, I think.

i become crazy anxious when i think
of the things i have done and the pain takes over.

Oh wait, she says, it’s 3:30, well I
will always remember the girl who taught
me to use the computer. Let’s keep in touch
now.

I show her how to save the document
to the disk, like a teacher reminding
a child to put the crayons away. Debra
swings her purse on, throws the yellow disk in,
takes out her smokes, and retreats to the porch.
Smoke break, our eyes never meet, but I kept
thinking my mom barely missed transition house.