To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Night Beat I work at an all night drug store; the night shift from six to four, where a plethora of people come walking through my door. Hookers want my money they always call me john, truckers want black coffee then back to moving on. Old winos bum for Ripple, on weekends Thunderbird, junkies ask for needles as they stumble for each word. Preachers try to save my soul telling of a better way, crackheads need some lighters to make it through their day. Teachers have a lesson and they want it done on time, judges make a ruling as if they're friends of mine. A black man sees his brother while the white man sees a threat, migrants buy their work gloves; the most polite people I get. Criminals are always wound up tight prepared to run away, the policeman is suspicious of everything I say. An old man wants to talk about his sad, solitary life, the grandkids won't come see him, last year he lost his wife. Pusher pays with bloodied hundreds, the smallest bills he has, musicians say that I'm off-key, while humming to my jazz. If you come down to the all night drug I'll be working six to four, come watch the crazy people who walk through my front door. |
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!