Drop the plate.
We can feel
Broken glass to the ear,
Nearly as bloody as the man,
His screams from the alley,
By his ear drug harshly
On broken bottle glass.
A shadowed gun held low,
A group where none say no.
The hotel door I opened,
The sight they saw I’d seen.
Closed door panic,
On rear window I lean.
No where to run.
No number to call.
Only death to see.
On asphalt they scratch my heart
As he is swept up, discarded.
I wonder how long til they come,
And if when my face breaks
I’d scream.
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