There is something odd about my neighbor,
I guess she’s under some kind of stress.
She stares without seeing,
And plays with the buttons on her dress.
She avoids attention, even light from the sun,
And I would swear she’s packing a gun.
She sits across the aisle from me,
Trying to ignore the things she sees.
A man stands at a corner waiting for our bus,
He is tired, hungry, defeated, just like us.
After days of searching , there’s still no work,
He’s just a fraction away from going berserk.
How can he survive if he’s living on pride?
Will he find a place to live safely outside?
A group of teens climbs aboard, boisterous and loud,
I wonder if one will escape the tenement and return rich and proud.
They threaten the homeless man.
He might have money stashed in a can.
They threaten the woman as she pretends to read,
Telling her they want her to meet their needs.
They laugh and suggest they could have fun,
Not noticing her hand touching her gun.
They turn their attention finally to me.
I was watching and waiting, it had to be.
Survival of the fittest, or the ones with most greed,
Somebody’s angels, or someone’s bad seed.
There is little to distinguish between me and my brother,
Hell will claim one, and heaven will get the other.
July 21, 2017berserk