The Gallows Poem by Mason Maestro

In this town, the blazing crime hits a high
The temperature soars and they open the hydrants
In this town, Long-waited Friday is payroll day
Taverns open, neon signs make a grand display
In this town, murders, happen every day
In this town, fattened cops walk the beat
Stopping all the strangers they meet
In this town, martyrs, hang from the gallows
Newsboys shout on every corner
In this town, friends, gather on the swelling boulevard
The merchants are fat and glad, the drifter’s life is hard
In our town, martyrs, hang in the gallows yard

There are guns, guns - banging on the door
There are guns, guns - another war in store
There are guns, guns - empty eyes of poor
There are guns, guns - dead men on the floor

Muzim, call of prayer from the minaret
Monks bow before the offerings of alms
Rabbi’s genuflect at the wailing wall
While Christians smoke their cigarettes
In this town, prophets, warn of a judgment day
Young girls flaunt their flowery frame for their charms' display
In this town, the river, smells of oil, tar and general grime
Broken shantytown - a destitute squalor frozen in time
Rusted cranes stand in the harbor, loading rusted ships
And a thousand tongues speak from a thousand set of lips
Prairie plumage, black girls dance for the king of the big parade
We’re waiting on the gallows, the gun-brandishing brigade