Poem number 357
It’s All In the Game, Yo
While shepherds washed their socks one night
All sitting round the fire
A scruffy murder police arrived –
McNulty from The Wire
He held a photo up to them
And said “You seen this guy?
Fluffy wings and dressed in white?
I heard that he dropped by.”
“Oh yeah,” a shepherd nodded
“He was here sometime last night
He told us that some kid’s been born
To put the world to rights.”
“That’s right,” another shepherd said
“He said that we should go
And visit with this honky kid
And give him presents, yo. “
McNulty nodded sagely, said
“Yeah well, that may be true
But who gives a fuck about some kid
When my guy’s turning blue?
He’s lying on a slab downtown
A shank stuck in his chest,
And you folks saw him last, it seems
So tell me all the rest
Or I’ll lock you up in County
With the rapists and the nuts
And you’ll spend a week just shitting blood
From out your bony butts.”
“Ok, ok,” The first replied
“Fuck me, I hate Five-o.
Don’t you going telling no-one
That we told you what we know.”
“That’s Gabriel, Big Angel G
He came here once a week
To buy himself a half a key
To spread amongst the meek.”
“A dealer?” Jim McNulty smiled
“I guess that seems to fit.
He looked so damned angelic
But this mope was selling shit.
I guess that even Heaven’s
Full of dope fiends everywhere
And maybe God don’t give a fuck
Who deals the shit up there.
Ok, I’ll buy it. There’s no point
In asking you for more
But no promises – I may be back
Again, who knows for sure.”
And with that he turned and walked away.
The shepherds shook their heads
“A Five-o. Here. In Shepherd Town
Just ‘cause some honky’s dead.”
They picked their socks up once again
And hoped that no one heard
That they’d spoken to McNulty
‘Cause if Marlo got the word
Then they’d end up in the vacants
Which would be a goddamned shame
But I guess that’s just the risk you take
When you be in The Game.
Poem number 357