corporation against company,
train rider against commuter,
the animal's instinct is to destroy
and somewhere between a beer and 2 hotdogs,
cigar smoke and chatter,
joe got hit,
his legs bent,
and his *** hit the canvas.
...and somehow through the roar of a 1000 voices
I can see and hear
the ref
counting
chanting into joe's wondrous brown eyes
"1,2,3...
"oh ****," joe laughs a bit bemused
perched on top his vertebrae of stairs,
"oh ****,"
and he climbs back down those bones
into the quiet night...
there is distance were a building once stood
and the field that was the farm
that made way for a factory
is a field again
where no wheat will grow.
I kick the ground trying to unearth
the ashes of joe's fire
but the angry earth just bleeds dust...
...and down at Marty's grill
the shadows lean forward
and with one quick stare
drink up the dreamer and his dream...
when I leave Marty's Bar
there's a boy beating a dog
with a baseball bat.
the yelping, howling dog
and another swing of the bat,
a home run.
joe was a professional boxer. I watched him die in a fight at the blue horizon in phily.