Thug Poetry

I press the lift button

awaiting the passage gates to open

Hoping the stench of urine won’t poke in

As the gates close in

I breath in and visualise for a moment

what the day might bring –

or really, what Iʼm hoping the day might not bring:

A new patient, stab wounds and broken,

dressed in blood, hopeless, his life paused.

 

But enough with the day dreams –

Here in the hood Iʼm constantly interrupted by day screams,

It seems to me that you’re lucky if you walk these streets

and can take that south London air in without looking left or right,

day or night.

 

Iʼm lucky if I see the next 24.

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