TRANSMISSION FLUSH

The sign read
like a beacon, above his head.

Lying there like a victim
of a hold-up gone wrong.
Wiped out and bleeding, screaming
“Play another song!”

I knew this night would end in a fuss
He stumbled out and carried on
as if it were a must.

Sprawled out in shadow
corpse like, that drunk
On concrete and street trash
making his bunk

INJECTOR CLEANING
Written in bold
His drunken breath fuming
into the night cold

10% OFF AUTO REPAIRS
If only addicts had such a deal
I might not be here
Shouldering his habit
and dragging it home