Here we are again, once more on the curb
What we own is here, on the lawn, in the “burb”
All were looking and we’d hoped not to disturb
Old friends closed drapes, when Dad’s cries were heard
His job and home gone, no one seemed to care
Once his shotgun was found, he looked for stares
Raising his gun, cops killed him there in his chair
All were looking and we’d hoped not to scare
© 2014 Michael Yost 03/05
Michael's Lair 