The Poet

The Poet

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Black Night Bleeding by Ron Porter ©2013

somewhere in my black night neighborhood
somebody plays an old sad song
someone who's been wounded in love
i can tell cause he plays it over and,
over, and over again
like a repeated prayer to bring her back
or at least to relieve the pain

and,  a group of old dudes in the alley
pass a bottle of Mad Dog and talk
about how they were slick and cool
way back in the day when they 
were kings of the street;
how good they hustled pool

And, hope walks with a limp
through yards without fences, looking
for anybody who still believes
siens cut the night like a blue steel
double-edged, hollow ground razor
and the black night starts to bleed...