No job, tired and hungry, his kids without bread…
instead of heading for home that night
he went to a liquor store instead.
Now, getting drunk was the last thing on his mind.
He just entered the shop to see what he could find.
It was cold as hell that winter night
his coat was buttoned to the top and tight.
He reached into his pocket for what change he had,
and somehow his movement made the shopkeeper mad.
“You get out! You get out, now!” came the man’s shout.
He just stood there shocked, wondering what this was all about.
“I got gun. I shoot. I kill you, too.”
“You get out. Go. I call police on you.”
He tried to explain, but it was too late.
His black woolen coat had sealed his fate.
When he reached in to show his pockets were bare,
he felt the first shot of buckshot hit his hair.
Somewhere in the city is a mother of three
who’s worried sick, crying, “where can he be?”
The kids are asleep, she has nothing to do.
He’s still not home and it’s quarter past two.
Life in the city has a very cheap price:
one minute you’re breathing, the next you’re on ice.