Concrete jungles and,

Life without struggles

Hunting for cuisine with,

Sharpened green

Traveling rolling canoes on,

Dark gray routes

Large brick tipi’s in,

Close segmented vicinity

Powwow rain dances replaced by,

Acidic haze dances

Protectors in blue,

Shooting colored canoes

Family life strained by,

Illuminated brick devices

This is not Native but,

The way of the City


This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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