Saturday, May 27, 2017

Gideon Doesn't Live in This Place


























Gideon doesn’t live in this place,
its soul as black as the moonless night,
silently sitting, waiting for the prey,
carefully choosing,
devouring them whole,
then spitting out the pieces,
as circling sharks,
patiently wait for the left overs;
on Friday evening,
like an invading army,
the crip/blood, gangsta wannabes come pouring in,
street tough,
conquering,
their baby mamma, whaever bitch,
ho entourage in tow,
ghetto cool,
tattoo correct,
bling tough ready;
they understand this place,
no words required,
just a natural progression;
they have arrived;
you watch, then quietly realize,
you love your wife,
more than you ever knew.
.

.

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