A Rat Race
Death was standing by the window,
looking down where the street lights
flickered across the night sky,
it was indeed a rat race,
pace after slow steady pace,
deceit had been standardized,
some crimes made sense,
this one was bizarre, cloudy, dense,
it was a horrifying attack,
two young boys shot in the back,
a small, waver sound of protest
passed his lips,
the boys were belly down,
on the ground,
and over size belts wrapped their hips,
death was curious in a morbid way,
with nothing to say,
he glared at the coagulated red pool,
he could have been two thousand yards away,
it wouldn't have mattered,
death was there to stay,
only in a rat race,
is where death and life can meet
face to face.
© 2014 Frank Atanacio
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