They slow dance at the window, outside the boys fight and play to the sound of an ice truck, half clothe, lying down and hot, he hates his hollow life. Tomorrows Saturday! She kisses him on the naked neck, he hates his slaughter job of a life and sitting down his child eases his pain with her gentle hands. Blues and soul.
Black poetry laced with long glances to the end of the searing sunny day, tears in a pair of tired eyes, they drift off to sleep with empty bellies. Crying from the stones hurt, the never end of it is an American flag on a kids push bike in the distance.
“there’s the animals teeth, and a mans hands…it’s time to fight, what are you gonna do”