A Brutha’s
Rhapsody
A lime green
Olds ’77 sits
in the empty
parking lot
of the Black
and Tan.
Its gold-fleck
paint
catches the
last rays of
rose-colored
sunshine.
Migraine-inducing
bass
rattle rusty
bolts,
falling into a
moldy ocean
of pirated CDs,
and black
market gear.
He leans back
on heated leather,
and takes a
long, slow drag
of his
medicinal,
savoring
cannabis
through
clenched teeth,
Zig-Zags flow
from
open suicide
doors
to join
yesterdays’ headlines
on barren
streets.
He nods his
head
in time to his
favorite jam
under the
flashing “open” sign
as suffocating
clouds move eastward.
rainwriter jones @2014
---------------------------------------------
Last night as a lied awake, my mind began to wander. I thought about how I previously believed that the homeboys on the wall of the bar and grill across the street were the unfortunate ones because they lacked knowledge about the world at large. All they know is the immediate day-to-day needs/wants of only themselves. There in my bed, I had a revelation: we are the unfortunate ones! Why? Because we have the knowledge that the world is going to hell in a hand basket. We worry about world affairs, homelessness, near-Earth objects, religious fanatics, global warming, the Dow Jones average, unemployment, life-shortening health problems, impoverished third-world countries...
They are oblivious to anything other than themselves, and wouldn't know nor care about anything other than heading to the next bar, screwing some dim witted female, or playing their car stereos so loud that hibernating bears would awaken from slumber. The only way they'd know the world had ended was if the bar wasn't serving alcohol that day.
Well, who's more fortunate? The one who knows, or the one who knows not?
rainwriter jones
