Bopping At the Crossroad of Prejudice

More dramatic than stage drama, tragic than Greek tragedy, one cold night beneath a streetlamp saw death dance a destiny. Only a small child out walking home bound for his routine tea, never thinking in his pie land life had planned insight for me. At the junction of the crossroads screeching tyres impacting near, he dropped like a fallen angel, helmetless with bleeding ear. In minds eye I clearly see him, on the pavement writhing there, leather clad, “boppin’” his death dance, curiosity drew all near. Audience showed little pity, just some “rocker” in despair, prejudice and fear residing, most contempt and hatred shared. Always lives in me that dying, see the callous smirking they, most I see old heads uncaring, that crossroad I chose a way.