good mop

work a good day, mop down the floors
thieves and lowlifes are there in your drawers
lurking in shadows the bushes and manes
never see sunlight but from the lear jet planes

three pint sweet, her hair made of rafters
holding moon in a sky framed of solemn hereafters
down the block 's home, not so far away
time reminds legs; get up some motion delayed

yet another hike home long after bus runs are dead
a remote sort of comfort pilots my head
until wham a blurred instant i'm flat on the ground
the suspect already 50 feet off like a hound

end a bad night, pave sidewalks with anger
or opposite, oppose vile intent, violent strangers