Hard-boiled calculus
It seems the town is filled with dark and rain
as through the bleakest streets I drag my shoes
with little left to lose and less to gain.
It's ever and again always the same
the big guys always win while small fry lose.
The town, it seems is filled with dark and rain
behind the muscle hired to make things plain
by pounding all my muscles to one bruise--
so little left to lose and what's to gain?
But prowling through the streets seems little strain
and this is just the sort of place she'd choose
a darkened down-town bar out of the rain
but the question is should she be found again?
Her? Maybe without the wig... but I'm confused
that woman still has things to lose and gain
no reason to admit she once was "Jane..."
So I'll finish my drink and point my shoes
back out into my town, the dark and rain;
my refuge from the maths of loss and gain.
No comments:
Post a Comment