Again, it’s the usual Saturday night;
another cold body, another lost fight.
His face is dented from hitting the curb;
blood pools from his brain – left undisturbed.
__________ . __________
Lifting his head, he senses a trace;
of someone nearby, invading his space.
Under cover of shadows, he spies the ground;
there lies a body – making no sound.
As is his instinct, he knows what to do;
‘left for the taking’, that’s all he knew.
He readies to move free from mistakes;
his raw heart races – his body shakes.
Inching forward, he smells the death;
he sees no movement; he sees no breath.
A gaping mouth wide as if to swear;
and blue glassy eyes – they only stare.
His plan now complete, he made it in slow;
then inspects the body from head to toe.
His work is done, he reaches in a pocket;
steals the man’s wallet – and runs like a rocket!
© 2012 – Kevin Collins