On the road - a possum family
all quickly slaughtered together.
There is something about their crushed bodies
strewn according to size and age as they are.
The whole family pretending to be dead,
even now in deaths squash
still seeking inconspicuousness.
I recall those monochrome pictures
of holocaust atrocities.
The thin bodies, little bodies.
The prioritized scattering,
as if the placement of last moments
were deaths final pose.
While we the living, are invisible
as we swerve to avoid them -
driving quickly away.
He changes diguises and identities
To throw surprises at his enemies
He is visibly invisible
In that his inconspicuousness is critical
forced to keep eye contact minimal
Enter the stone cold criminal
With seasoned vets mentals
The path he walks you limp to
The ones he stalks would pimp you
The rats he chalks on the avenue
Many battlewounds
Their masked behind his three piece suit with burberry shoes
With a paper in tow like he's hip to the news
If only they knew he got them ill street blues
Always contemplatin pullin his trey eight soon
When the air is thick gun smoke clouds the moon
This cat is hellbent
On having his remains artistically displayed on the pavement
Or lookin forward to his future indictment
When checkin the hindsight he couldnt tell you where his life went
Exchanged freedom for striped raiment commisary's his excitement