"Kiss Him" Matching Shirts

On the sweltering waltz to work
They drone through ghetto jungle
Gyms, jagged with parentless children,
Who wear matching shirts, too,
But with less fairness
The men see that everyone must hustle
The impoverished alleys saturated
With noises of fireworks
All calendar long
The tireless lines of badges and sirens
But they have a brother
And with flea market cowboy hats,
Sets of matching shirts,
Font sizzled into cloth by their own hands
And grandmother's borrowed iron,
With clean pants pawned
From family holidays halted years past,
With their legs to take them,
And their livers to live
til the Southern Comfort leaves,
With only this they walk the streets
Pretending fame for five dollars
Per polaroid and without
Taking off these shirts,
They save more than those that do
As they return home 3 a.m.
Thanking god that they may cross
The bridge once, again
Bright flashes seared into sockets
Sprawling in front
Of their very same faces