Thursday night Po!

Avenue A

sitting on this gray step
worn old from life
i see the world at its finest

dog on a chain hating
his sports coat wearing owner
who calls his wife honey,
keeps a blonde on call
because her child must eat
and the thrill is
most definitely not gone

boy across the way
walks likes he’s ninety
calls his baby’s momma
“whore”
as he hustles
on gang controlled corners
then is shot stone, dead
within ten
minutes

rising up
i have seen enough
to wonder why
the old time singers lied

things always remain
the same

ljh/2011

Category : blogging, Life, Poetry, Uncategorized, writing
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