Poem: money

                                December 3, 2015
The cops come in the night
bright lights
Move your stuff
block off the street
why don’t you come
in the day?
says Ray
sandy hair
say,     10 AM?
I am   the law the law
I enforce
the developer
10 cops come
some women
sits in a car
Move those tents
they say
beyond that tree
I’ll lie down here
for 30 days
says Ray
freeze to death
named for the City in Washington
you’ll find my stiff
after King was assassinated
washed out by rain
in the morning
30 days

134 dead
says Ray
in Denver streets
no help from Jesus
nor the President
swept  away
nor Mayor Hancock
whose mom took a little
no tents beyond this tree
shall we  the community says
says the law
couch surfing
night by
be arrested?
no camping!
a blond man grabs a tent
throws it frailly over his eye on the ground
Arrest me, he says
cops prowl
over his blueeye
woman with a guitar

sidles nearby
Tiny Tim
Lay me
sounds of a city
no gunfire
stuffed in a sack
on an open grave