Poetry Feature: “Chronicles” by Isaiah Brown

Junk’d up on adrenaline.

Nobody could tell you anything.


I was grateful enough to move

to your hometown, let alone 

become your friend. 

Isn’t that the Taylor kid? I heard the 

Police searched his house for six hours.

Nobody was ready to see what your

home looked like though. 


How you rescued 

a dog from the neglect of its drug-

dealing owners.

Nonetheless you were from the wrong

side of the tracks, yet cut so different

from everyone else.


You split the community in half.

Modern day robin hood, only you could do that.


One end of the spectrum left in 

grief of a young genuine life taken too soon.

Others commemorated the death 

of a bandit.

Almost like they saw the end of an era, 

understanding that your dirt bike was never

to be heard in Adamstown again.


You and that bike.

The loss didn’t hit me until it was too late.

I realized I didn’t hear that rust bucket of a machine

ripping down its iconic strip outside my window

anymore. Suddenly your crew made less and

less appearances throughout the town.


I never finished the cigarette you offered during our first encounter.

I only took it so you and your friends wouldn’t think I’m square.


At first, I thought it was cool, that

my peers recognized me as part of your legend.

It was a handful of times we even hung out.

I feel so stupid now! To think a legacy 

could fill the void of a fallen soldier. 

Now all I am left with is a memorial card, and 

posts of your life depicted through Facebook.