he swift driver shouts 'you'll be meat for the street'
You think, and lower your head into his car
Picking on kids? Black asphalt sends heat
You watched him smoking a cigar
You think, and lower your head into his car
Sun glints on chrome, reflects in his mirror shades
You watched him smoking a cigar
He looks down and reaches for the blade
Sun glints on chrome, reflects in his mirror shades
And windy leaves rustle in the breeze
He looks down and reaches for the blade
As garbage truck dump, leaves a trail of stink
And windy leaves rustle in the breeze
Hockey sticks swing through branches, retreat
As garbage truck dump, leaves a trail of stink
Rage is razor where jugular meets
Hockey stick swings through branches, retreat
Picking on kids? Black asphalt sends heat
Rage is razor where jugular meets
The swift driver shouts 'you'll be meat for the street'
YOU ARE READING
north on 50 - canadian interior poems
Poetryas long as we live we create and break relations with fantastic efficiency. when attachments prove inconvenient, its not always the other that agrees. its the will changing people, places and things. answers in the unanswered. a pregnant pause.
