Crooks Crackle

one husky oak
crackles quick
and breaks in the black
of dark--drenched
hours as five lurking
henchmen plucked
from prison’s stark
dank bowels
cruise dust coated
atop a funky
scratched pick/
up truck over
and up ruts
and rocks
plopped down
and foul
like condemned
tract homes
for lease
or sale
on this lone
straight road,

none the less,
odd illicit
twists of street
or plot
surprise us
not,

convicts pre/
dicted turns
fail to earn
an iota
of care,

what’s written
here evokes
no nod of
‘I’m right there’,

no embodied
sense of true
concern,

no real fuel
to heat white
the night

to blow wild
and blue,
to blaze
and burn.