May 4th, 2010, in memory of an sudden end of a story

Excuse a thief, dear street warrior 
for again walking off with a life story
When they've left you broke without
TV
Mobil
Rumah and Rupiah
kretek and meal
sky and everyday
stale Life.
Though you are just twittering
"those fuckin' Chinese"
when he signals "sorry no free ride today"
with disdain and fear.

A story in which characters are not even recognized.
not fade but plummet, crushed.
Two faces I see in the gig
a young lady 
with a baby armed in Misfits sleeves and kissed with pierced lips.
You know in my isle, streets are of police and the dickhead bosses.
Now I see a street punk mother.

No climax, twist and even a comma
how to finish a story like this?
Running into a mindless truck
at Jambi Street
no alcohol and smoking during the gig
still a living is taken
on that street.

Nowhere husband and truck driver are.
Grandma and a little child
unpaid bills 
invisible frustration and helplesness.
A kindness 
rejected by an angry father, shouting:
"you punks killed my daughter!"
when you are at the door
with collected money 
from the plastic cups tighted upon the guitars.
A makeup from the traffic light scene.

An end of a story, and yours not.
still a drunk punk in front of the mall at the corner under the traffic light
guitar chord played and lyrics shouted everyday, 
empty pocket or not.

and you tell me you pray to God for a reason I can't remember
How I wish that ashole is here with an honest walking man.

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