Imagine the stymied dismay on the face of that black man as i answered my front opened srtorm glass door at his knock, knock rappin'...
Wuz that tall skinny blackman casin' my door?
Wuz he mappin? ...
Wuz he poor?
He wore a red button down short sleeved shirt of red...
With black colored asianic in design.
He had no afro pick supported or sprouting from his young well trimmed close head...
If he'd got caught-He'd surely be shot, real, real solidly dead.
He said to me that he must have the wrong address...
If he'd tried to enter into my doorway i'd make him a real hurt and well defeated broken up mess.
He wore beige khaki pants with tennis shoes of white....
He'd been bitten by my long haired Dachschund hound, boy would it hurt, that well swollen reddened one bite.
He could not read house addresses numbers and that point is clear...
He should be working for the post office so that he could deliver mail oh so close but not as near.
The mail would be delivered off by a house or a block or two...
That black lad would have been recognized as illiterate and be mad and stew.
Would he have tried to enter my home if i did not answer the knock of his hand...
I'd most likely would have caught him in the act and then i'd have to kick his butt and to himself to apprehand.
He walked on down to the next house and got no answer even though there was a car in the driveway...
No one home? Not even on this fine hot sunny humid day.
I might have alerted the police by phone if i was not on line writing a poem...
That lad probably thought that no one was here, that no one was at home.
Had i spoiled his day that day? ...
Will he rob someone else's home and make them for being careless totally pay?
He walked away...
And here i live and home i stay.
Michael Gale
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/was-he-a-home-breaker-into-er/
