burglar

bring me the stalker, the crasher
the kicker of doors
put him down on all fours

the coward, the runner
the fleet-footed thief
who left empty-handed

the one without honor
the soul twisted black
the breaker, the taker

set him before me
and turn loose my rage
that I keep tightly caged

instead you hide
and skulk in darkness
like a roach

come, let me stomp you
for the satisfaction I'll feel
hearing your bones crunch

rise up
so I might slap you down
run
so I have a reason to chase
fight
give me a target for my wrath

B-movie kind of life

We'll have burgers and fries
and watch the kids play
after sunday supper with the folks,
a viciously ordinary day.

Sometimes the roof leaks,
but only when it rains.
The floor gets dirty.
The carpet collects stains.

We cut the tall grass,
and feed chickens the scraps.
We empty the trash
a bit late perhaps.

And we wait in vain for greatness,
great joy or terrible strife,
while we muddle thru our days
in this, our B-movie kind of life.