The vehicle’s two headlights pierced the morning mist
Signaling the possibility there may be some grist.
But the morning was the end, everything was packed
It hustled out the door, as if it had been attacked.
In its place the remnants, of a place I once enjoyed
Scattered with the pieces I know I must avoid.
The news comes through like morbid exhaust
Continually reminding us of things we just lost.
Night is here, a new beginning?
Surely someone, somewhere, must be winning.
There are handouts, bailouts, as the governments lend
I’d trade them all for the presence of a friend.