Jefferson Street
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There was absolutely no grudge,
It all started with a warrant
Signed by a judge,
38 Jefferson Street
Was a shit brick pile,
Playing host to a police parade,
But the beleaguered population
Had no problems with the raid,
The once crowded building
Was strangely silent,
Hours earlier, emotions were streaming,
Children were screaming,
It was all hell,
As a dozen or so occupants
Marched down the narrow,
Rotting stairwell,
It was dark,
And there was no light,
While closing in on mid-night,
The detectives had seen worse places,
In most of their search cases,
But make no mistake,
38 Jefferson Street took the cake,
Out side the building,
Empty dark and light brown faces
Stare blindly into the cold,
Both young and old,
And equally afraid,
As the police found nothing
In that search and seizure raid.
© 2013 Frank Atanacio