THE COLD

the cold is back
like death on divsion street
as i remember the tenements
and those desperate days
of hunger and fear
chased by the "bulls"
who protect and serve
only the rich
who are carried from limosines
like baby jesus in swaddling clothes
into pampered nightclubs
smelling of aged beef
while me and my cohorts
shuffled in shoes
with cardboard soles
looking in dumpsters
for day old bread
and other sustenance
which couldn't be found in taverns
where broken merry-go-round dreams
afflicted our souls
we walked in, not carried
the cold wind at our backs
to smells of urine and smoke
cheap frozen pizzas
tattered barstools
and aged bartenders
cackling females beyond their prime
so i got drunk enough
to face the cold
being just numb enough
to make it back home
to set the alarm
for the frigid morn
and go through the motions
at horrificly monotonous jobs
days without end
till the cold enveloped me
for the end