A Matter of Geography

After I returned from the war
I thought I’d seen everything.
But then, Erie County Jail and a con down from Attica,
An ex-biker called Running Bear,
Is talking, strutting,
Scraggily-assed hair,
Deep black eyes no one dares look into.
He’d take a contract out on anybody
For Five G’s.
Everybody in the block is nodding,
Black, white,
Yeah, damn straight,
Close in,
Close enough to smell each other’s stink,
To suck in each other’s breath.
And Running Bear turns to me,
Laughs a killer laugh,
Eyeteeth filed to Devil’s points,
Says killing’s all a matter of Geography, man,
All a matter of Geography.

Rick Christman