The streets
Are a young man’s
Game
They
Say
But even the
Young break
Down, crumple
Little left
But rubble
We’re not
What we
Were
Little of
What we
Thought
We’d be
Our blood’s
Thinning as
Humanity
Marches
On
There are
Some out
There
Crazy eyed
Drunk
Burning
At both
Ends
Lightening in
Their hands
I bump into
Them here
And there
It’s always
Brief
Always in
Passing
They could
Repaint the
Sistine chapel
Or become
The new
Murderers
Of our age
It’s a toss
Up to me
And to
Them
They don’t know
If they want
To inherit
The earth or
Simply tear
It apart
Given time
They might
Figure it
Out
given
time
Jim Evans is a warehouse associate who has traveled the country working odd jobs, meeting and writing about various artists, musicians and nonconformists living life on the fringes of society. He lives in Colton, CA with his wife and son. Jim is currently seeking publication for ‘Pay Me the Penny After’ his first collection of poetry.
