Crime

To my first friend, ever

I have been lucky to drop a handful of copper on a dirty, uneven counter.
The dark skinned man with a dark lock of hair frowns,
Counting the dull ones, counting the ones that shine.
I wait for a pack of generic one hundred filters,
Savoring the stale taste of cheap smoke while
Someone sits on a torn sofa, dropping
Ashes onto a stained carpet, watching
Black and white dots swarm on a fizzing TV set
While spinning the chamber of a loaded .357.

I have been lucky to beg for a handful of paper on a dirty, wooden floor.
The tall, thin man frowns,
Counting the crumpled bills, counting the fresh, flat bills.
I stand by the pump at a convenience store,
Listening to the flow of cheap gasoline while
Someone waits nervously, sweating,
Feeling pressure at their temple, while
A shadow plucks at their wallet, holding
A loaded .357.

I have been lucky to chew on stale chips,
To drink sour water and sit in a wooden chair,
Feeling sorry for myself while
Someone is wading through trash, searching
For a husk of corn or a bone with shreds of meat, clinging
Like life, when suddenly
A flash, a crack, a cry, and crimson
Drains from the wound left by a loaded .357.

I have been lucky to spend all day driving, looking
For tell-tale signs of pay checks, filling
Endless applications, hoping
I'll never be so alone, sitting
On my couch at home, smoking
And loading a hollow .357.

© Copyright 2000 — 2009 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.