Out On The Beat Poem by Mark Money

it's a sticky night and you're out on the beat
dressed in your party clothes
rose in your hair
how in the world did that ever get there?
well, it just flew in on an embarrassed breeze.
still too much to know i care- -
never know where the night might lead.

oh, if i could only tell you
if i could only get it across to you
but you're not even close enough for me to speak
you're trapped somewhere in the middle of the week
and you're just marking time- -
marking time without me
out on the beat.


(1976- Tulsa, OK)