The Junkie

Another tenant must have let him in

An addict needing quick cash left his hole

The gun, a prop he found or simply stole.

I froze at first… he forced it in the jamb

So that I could not bolt the solid door

Screaming as if I didn’t give a damn

Then with my fists I nailed him to the floor

I tasted rage while hammering his head

When not one neighbor stopped to make a call

Hearing the shots of electricity

Knowing this kid wanted another fix

In Union Square, a common thing to see

Crack heads and junkies in the shady mix

Who beg for change from people passing by

And cannot stop to score another high.