The Circle of Crime

The tired warehouse in shrouding haze,

the hue of orange from polluting lights.

The floor scattered with the windows broken glaze,

the breeze-block brick the sorriest of sights.

The tracksuit clad youth stood in their huddle,

the clouds of smoke float away from their lips.

The drunken boy seeks more than a cuddle

the drugged-up girl clutched by her hips.

The sirens join their raucous laughter,

the dying man just a block away.

The group doesn't know what the police are after,

the criminals know they cannot stay.

The worried wife sits by her phone,

the tears welling up in her bright eyes.

The man whom she loves has not been home,

the phone does not ring, the worry intensifies.

The ambulance races through the street,

the wounds are critical getting worse.

The police follow the pattering feet,

the next week, the man will travel in a hearse.

The wife grieves in her jet black attire,

the jet black hearted thugs get off again.

The uninspired youth will never aspire

and so the circle of crime begins, again...