Native-City
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