Gideon doesn’t live in this place,
its soul black as the moonless night,
silently sitting, waiting for the prey,
carefully choosing,
devouring them whole
then spitting out the pieces,
circling sharks,
patiently wait for the left overs;
on Friday evening they come pouring
in,
an invading army, street tough,
crip/blood, gangsta wannabes,
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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