They made the old-man a memory
of stained pavement. A clock face choked
on a second, then continued ticking.
Bare-faced they take our lives
Suited-up they steal our liberty
Today here, tomorrow the next block.
Next Monday in the next ‘hood.

The Angel of Death lives in Brooklyn.
He collects food stamps on Sutter
and welfare checks on Ralph.
We know him by his first name.

BANG! BANG! BANG!
They carry away our dead and our living
take more lickings. Another welfare check.
Another soul to reap.