Badzelda.com

rubber squeals and shots,
and shattering glass sound
the next fatality and

somewhere in the background
children are screaming
with laughter, mellow

beats groove from the
bonnets of cars
souped up for summer

the sirens could be
part of the soundtrack and
are those bells orbital, or
is it sunday?

time always,
losing time. I.

somewhere in the night
a jungle beat, the slap
of dominoes the crack
of a pool cue the roar

of a crowd the smack
of punches thrown by children;
bloody gloves and matchstick
limbs lit by the limelight.

spectators fight it out
in the cheap seats while
toddlers crawl in the mess
of beer cans, hot dogs
and empty fag packets.

the man in the street
is still counting his fingers
again and again - as if checking
they're all there, the preacher still

promising destruction and
crack dealers whisper in your ear
the band plays cars growl past

you catch
snatches of conversation,
caught in the slipstream.

The city is never silent,
the young are never pure
and even the innocent are guilty

of something and still I hear....