Friday, December 18, 2015

Poem: money

                                December 3, 2015

The cops come in the night

bright lights

Move your stuff


block off the street

why don’t you come

in the day?

says Ray

sandy hair

say,     10 AM?

I am   the law the law


I enforce

the developer

10 cops come

some women

sits in a car

Move those tents

they say

beyond that tree

I’ll lie down here


for 30 days

says Ray

freeze to death

named for the City in Washington

you’ll find my stiff

after King was assassinated

washed out by rain

in the morning

30 days

134 dead

says Ray

in Denver streets

no help from Jesus

nor the President

swept  away

nor Mayor Hancock

whose mom took a little

no tents beyond this tree


shall we  the community says

says the law

couch surfing

night by

be arrested?

no camping!

a blond man grabs a tent

throws it frailly over his eye on the ground

Arrest me, he says

cops prowl

over his blueeye

woman with a guitar


sidles nearby

Tiny Tim

Lay me

sounds of a city



no gunfire

stuffed in a sack



on an open grave

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