Nighttime's Slop Poem by Tim Labbe

A banana moon is pasted onto the sky tonight.
Scarred asphalt streets slumber in its mellow light.

Nomadic power-line cables dance a delicate weave,
Swaying above rooftops, where a grey city breathes.

Broken bottle glass gleans off of torn-faced tramps,
Under slop-mop dreams, lying fetal beneath streetlamps.

And the one-eyed black cat and mangy tripod mutt,
Lie restless in the alleyway full of putrid human crud.

Parked in the 'Reserved for Funerals Only' sign space
I thought, 'Was now my time to exit this damn rat race? '

Then realizing that I had checked out many years ago,
I drove off, choking back another swig as the eff'n rats followed.