"Gold in Stew" http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/61709.jpg
I went downtown as usual to the local butcher shop
to get my weekly order of blood sausage, brains, and pig’s feet.
Mr. Rainey was the most skilled meat cutter in the County,
dressed his product neatly, was never hasty, or ever snooty.
His specialty was beef stew, it was the talk of the town,
never any around, as it sold out quickly.
He was the type of guy you could trust, very modest,
his knowledge of animal anatomy was incredible.
Always gave a great variety on a display table,
business appeared stable as there was always
a line at the counter to get his delicious cuts,
for brisket sales he gave biscuits on the side.
This day was different, the yellow caution
tape wrapped around the building made it
look like Ft. Knox, you couldn’t get in, and
nothing was going to get out with all
the cops walking about, looking so alive.
I didn’t know what to think about all the commotion,
oldies “Locomotion” blasted on the airwaves.
All of the sudden, there a news flash, busted the tune,
“Local Butcher Suspected of Harboring Illegal Immigrants!”
Wow, I thought this was going to get rather interesting, as
the SWAT team showed up in force for some gun action.
As they went in for the attack, the leaders rhetoric on
the electric bullhorn ordered us, “Stand back!”
These guys were consummate pros, no greenhorns here,
within minutes, the door was flattened, quickly signaled, “ALL CLEAR!”
Mr. Rainey was chastened out, a bit frightened,
not bludgeoned, as he was a peaceful man.
No illegals were unearthed, the shop was empty, and
within twenty minutes, was open for business.
The cops drove away dumbfounded, unfounded,
their beliefs were dashed by what had occurred,
found no human trash, as some might call them-the illegals that is.
Just the same, I did not want to be bothersome,
Mr. Rainey had been troubled some already today, so,
I decided to drive back to my Cali hacienda, finish
the special stew I had left out on my veranda.
A quick trip to the microwave, an ice cold Corona,
I settled in with my feet propped up, the
aroma of cooked beef tickled my palate.
Mmmmm Mmmm, this was some tasty gruel.
That’s when I saw it, the gold tooth
in the bottom of the soup bowl.
It was then I remembered the deejay
mentioning something about thirty people missing.
Eyewitnesses reported a dozen, maybe
more, going in the butcher store,
with none ever seen coming
out the front door.
Oh, Dear Lord!