Mud in. Mud out.

I use welfare cards to chop lines of cocaine

on cracked dashboards old and defeated by the sun.

I use the rains that cascade from housing gutters

to wash these grimey hands.

That grime lingers momentarily

then drifts into tiny streams

passing through valleys, trees and

bewildered animals along the way.

It trickles down coming to rest on muddy banks,

seeping into the ground I walk upon

when the sun has gone.


Ray Strickland

View ray_strickland's Full Portfolio