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Rated: E · Poetry · Crime/Gangster · #2203086
Slumming in the streets that get around to nothing.
Earlier I had shoplifted the five and dime, looking at over-sized shirts with cuffs long.
Go-go boots are going.....gone, taken by me, a skintight emaciated blonde.
Now I passed the boarded up trailers trashed by the homeless going ballistic.
I was caught up in this fright where arms flail on porch picketing rail,
flagging down help that never comes.
911, can you hold?
Phone rings hello being a bit mellow for the serious fellow deciding who lives or dies
dialing "em" for murder.
He had me, a fishnet hooker's pillage purse grabbed and torn from behind.
Worm colored thighs were kicking.
He had only to say begone once to us instead of stabbing me in the back in more ways than one.
Snoring catches Z,z,z…..unaware of partners goodbye at my knees,
a prayerful moment not a tease for days to come.
Dusk comes undone and it dawns on me in more ways than one,
so where's the helicopter spotlighting our neighborhood,
it's not a sleeper to crime.....
hold on there, there goes my beeper.

The End.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2203086