Monday, March 21, 2016

'Oh, room rent, what crimes are commited in thy name!'

lock the door behind you
    ignore the keyhole eyes burnt in each

passing flat
remember the cold water dripping out

    faucet into sink
you'll use it to scrub later

bathe clean of the stink
     down the stairs each step louder

closer to ground floor
chipped paint kicked aside frame

     swinging aluminum sunrise puffs of breathe
chilly air grates and reaches into pockets

     up to you to hide the greasy bills
keep you head down hat rim down and arms

ready your weak knees only carry so
     how long you been staring out
and bus passes jack and gone

good riddance without
     breakfast moves the day faster along

no windows no kid light the bulb
     you can see

     street lamps make orange light
for you to walk home by these hours paid

slide in while those eyes again are
     set to tabled scorn drooling

quick with key and turn of empty knob
latch the door behind you

turn out your pockets
    count the dead men in your hand

one two three four five six seven

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