Hitching in the cool dark
from one half dead town
to another
escaping thru’ a window
in my parents home
pushed to seek adventure
from the daily avalanche of grey
following a crowd
down a grimy street
into ‘the speakeasy’
a wall of books
that opened
after a while
after they’d paid
I waited
snuck in behind
a different group
to a smoky night club
I hovered in dark corners
trying to be small
occasional swiping
an abandoned drink
nobody bothered
noticed me
loud music
a tyre screech
‘Al Capones guns don’t argue’
a spotlight on a tiny stage
& a young black guy
danced to the beat
half naked
happy with the spot
& beat
it was fantastic
as he swung
his Thompson gun
‘don’t call me scarface’
& all too much
for young eyes
that had to be in school
in the morning
where I sat
twirling my pencil
al capones guns don’t argue
the decision to leave
half dead towns
the older me
had begun

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