street corner…

it is two-thirty in the morning…WBGO plays jazz as i drink from Dionysus’ cup…looking out at a street corner ‘cross from a church…where parishoners go on Sundays to hear the word of god…a message of hope…

a baby was carried with ribbon in hair to her baptismal…a Mexican bride blew kisses to a crowd…elotes sold from a steaming cart…a communion for us all…

this corner where dope is dealt by homeboys lookin’ to get ahead…if not for a little while…cars pull-up slowly…windows rolled down…a transaction takes place…as guns blaze throughout the night…pop pop…pop pop pop…how we long for daylight…

and i watched the child bleed on that corner ‘cross from the church…to run from guns when all children should be in bed…or reading the good book…what has that brought us…

that corner…in a Midwestern city…where the workers at Falstaff were promised two cases of beer a day…you keep-up your end of the bargain boys….keep up your end…and labor got along with management…management got along with labor…on a handshake…a handshake…

i look down from my window…drinking a glass of red…it is dark…too dark…

light will not come for some time…

Published by:

dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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