Chicagoetry: Gimme Back My Bullets

GIMME BACK MY BULLETS

Put 'em back where they belong.
I ran to a gangfight and a

classroom broke out. HO-la!
I shouted out

DRUGS FOR
WHITEY!!!

Whitey don't care unless the
dead kid white.

WHOOPS!
Sorry, fellas . . .

This morning on Chicago's Very
Own Champs d'Elysees, North Avenue,

I walked alongside a funeral
procession. The hearse

silver, head of a
snake, scaled like a pearl-string of

late-model,
mid-size sedans.

Felt
my pockets

for my
bullets. All good!

Schanna boom-boom,
yeah, Sister,

gotta barrel that's a-blue
and

cold . . .

-

J. J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He can reached at jjtindall@yahoo.com. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

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