Memorial Day Morning: It’s Not the South Side, Because If It Were, At Least One Person Would Be Dead

The preacher, dressed in red, white and blue
against his brown skin and bald pate,
shouts the way of salvation from his
balcony just down the street from

the man’s house. The house next door to his
house has cardboard covered windows
and the patches of grass front and back
haven’t seen a lawn mower in forever.

It’s three a.m. and a round of six shots
is heard on the street in front of the
man’s house. Next day someone said it was
the Preacher who, apparently, was

just out for target practice without any
particular target in sight in light of the
street light. The observer said the
Preacher stood his ground, this time

with a red, white and blue cowboy hat
on, spread his legs, bent his knees and
supported the gun with his other hand.
The man wonders, Who is the observer,

how does he know all this about the
Preacher, why was he on his front porch
at three a.m. anyhow? Maybe he made
it up and he was the shooter out for

target practice without any particular
target in mind under the light post
that did shine. If others saw anything,
they ain’t sayin’.

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