street song

[Benjamin]

night patrol rounds parapets

of bullet pocked graffiti

the old moon snipes with a new thought

of little children skipping--

 

close all the windows batten all the doors

hide in the kitchen down on all fours

hey you little buggers lets have hush

rent man's coming but he wont find us--

 

taut fingers on cold steel

the green shroud lights his face

and he doesn't hear the report

[David W. Parsley]

Reflects a far-too-common anxiety, noting the coinciding dances of life and its adjunct realities.

 

Thanks Ben,

- Dave