Friday, December 18, 2015

Poem: money



                                December 3, 2015


The cops come in the night

bright lights

Move your stuff

cameras

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

disheveled


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

Resurrection

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

boy


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


Arrest

sidles nearby


Tiny Tim

Lay me


sounds of a city

down

slowly

no gunfire


stuffed in a sack


wind

skittering


on an open grave






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