Alleyways and the Lost

 
The streets never really leave me, so I play to them often . . .



Shadowy half-lit alleyway
Vacant is the slaughterhouse
To non-wary, trusting eyes
The elements are cowering
From the setting bloody sun
But never mind I lumber on

Not one person is concerned
No one from back then to see
Like me, outta sight outta mind
When, at last, you seek asylum
In whiskey, uppers, this'n that
No one will care, you nor them

Taste of rotgut gin on my tongue
Depressing jukebox music filters
From inside the tavern I just left
High above the moon turns cold
Sirens scream, ambulance or cops
Skidrows' oh so sad howling grief

Clock strikes midnight from afar
A bewailing to those who are lost
Wake up! The dead of night people
They all co-mingle oh so warily
Looking for a likely mark to scam
Or woman or man to take to bed

It's like death out there on the streets
I've been here many years, I'm numb
To it all, I blend in, I walk the walk
Talk the talk and wish to God I won’t
Die in this alley or is it my true fate
I have it coming, paying last my dues

As before I sleep inside the alley
Wondering if I'll wake up quite dead
A frightful game we street people play
And I, by being in this alley am lost
Gin-induced nightmares make for unrest
Murky people saturate my sad dreams

I squint my eyes as the sunlight hits me
I hear footsteps, not like those before, no
These are full of energy and purpose and
I'm content to lie there; soak up the sound
I lie still as church thieves, I love the thud
Men's and woman's make in their pursuit
The light
The sound of people going to work
A world I had forgotten
Are there those who care
I feel different
Still in my gin-soaked clothes
The light has found its way inside my thoughts
Is there room for me among that crowd
Outside my alley
I wonder
I . . .

©May 7, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton