Reworking my resume, tripping through previous job experiences:
Where businesses are boarded up the body bled
on tree lined streets dreamers have fled
small wooden homes line avenues in decay
and those who can’t dream are condemned to stay
On a craftsman porch ghosts of forgotten children playing
hear the tinkle of keys drifting through open curtains
in the background of memories piano concertos wafting
while down in the streets
real children with guns play a dangerous game
between gangsta-rap beats instigating
A row of cars circle a house on the corner
prison bars on windows and doors
on the porch a man in a suit of armor studies
broken concrete sidewalk weeds rising through cracks
where junkies stand in line waiting on snow
and I’m here seeking my fair share of the dough
inside a card table and folding chair for décor
paid in sweaty bills from the pocket stash of a whore
At another house not far away
I arrived without delay
Neighborhood Association busted down your door
stole your crystal and so much more
dried crimson streaks across the floor
evidence of the final minutes for you and your girl
indescribable horror screaming
in the silence of a stain
indescribable horror still screaming
as I helped the King’s Men fill out the report
On another street not far from here
earning my pay while admitting no fear
three months had passed without word
so I put your worldly possessions out on the curb
trick of irony you appeared
as the last of your things walked away
snarling teeth spitting in my face
would have killed me if you could
the duties of my job you misunderstood
RW Howell 