poem: Karma Rides Shotgun

indifferentman

Karma Rides Shotgun



Karma always rides shotgun

low slung in the seat with a tipped forward Fedora

brass knuckles sliding loosely on his sweating fingers

.38 special in his waistband



shifty eyes

square jaw

5 o’clock shadow

and a smoking cigar

he says nothing and looks off into the distance



always ready to jump out and deliver vengeance

slide over the hood and hit the ground running

flat footed on a pair of scuffed leather dress shoes

worn soles slapping the pavement like thunder



an inevitable collision

no chance of escape

leaves you unprepared for the blow

like a shot in the back



drags his victims away screaming

off the street and into the alley

left to bleed behind the dumpster



yet he swings in both directions



fixes the horses

spins the slot machine rollers an extra quarter click

takes care of the “competition”

and pulls ‘em to safety from the burning wreckage



wordless

indifferent

and apathetic



he keeps his books

every action written in blood on permanent file

pretenses footnoted

and balances equated



all orders carried out in the name of fate……..

intodeep

kinda cool

sevensins

cool i played my acoustic along with it....fit well

scat cat

That was really cool. I always knew karma was a bitch.

indifferentman

Thanks guys, I must have taken about a year to get this poem working the personification of Karma right.

setaside2

I liked it alot.

I have to say, though, that my version of karma was never apathetic, just equal opportunity...