Los Angeles 1982
Los Angeles 1982
my piece got me out of many a jam
(but I mostly just pointed it)
and the bad guy always said “I didn’t want to do it”,
or “I’m misunderstood”, or that he wasn’t bad at all
and when I showed him my badge and my integrity
and called out “hands up!”,(if he was still with us)
he would offer me a bunch of flowers, or a bunch
of lies, or a bunch of fives
or some story he’d made up (like a poem)
and I’d see him off to the big house
for half a lifetime or forever, or even worse
and in there, there’s no milkshake, or TV Times or
walks on a Sunday morning to the deli
and they all laugh at you like you’re crazy or lazy
or need a fix but they like your tattoos and scars
and the stories (lies) that go with them
and after a while you can hear the sound of
the storm drain
washing away the money from your last job
along with your self- respect and self-neglect
and they’ve all got a sister and a mother
who writes to them (they say)
and the family you were never sure about
but who liked you in a funny kind of way
disappear from view, maybe moved away, or became
astronauts, or politicians, or just got tired of writing:
now… do you want all of that?
No?...so come quietly
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment