Stabbed in the head and left for dead
the local paper said - that’s what I read -
a man without a bed, on and on he bled
and I am led to fear these roads we tread.

He was kicked in the gut - punch-drunk cut
no reason nothing but - just lowlife in a rut
like name-called sluts with doors tight shut -
we must ignore such brutish unkind strut.

But carved in the street and left for meat?
Where cold rats meet with no retreat,
this man you’d never greet, now stains on cold concrete,
and fear remains, beneath my feet.

He, was, sliced through his head
cleft and dead, Redtop newsprint screwed and fled -
DID YOU HEAR? what I just read?
This man without a bed, on and on, he bled
and I am led to dread these roads we tread.

This entry was posted on Friday, July 3rd, 2009 at 3:54 pm and is filed under Humanity.