being poor
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The teachers keep on sayin
There’s a red white and blue dream
But the only red and blue we see
fight round that white man referee
Walk a mile in my shoes
With the holes in the toes
I don’t have any goals
And everybody’s smoking bowls
I wish I had the courage
I'm afraid of heights, but that's not all.
There are no ropes in case I fall.
Now that I'm an adult it seems,
the only escape from anxiety is in my dreams.
I would love to wake up one day,
Twelve years old with a huge fabric binder,
a new pair of shoes,
and the exact same wardrobe as the year before.
The shoes were maroon and grey
and "only cost fifteen dollars!" my mom said.
An aftertnoon stroll has me walking by houses,
with doors that let me back
into realities I used to know.
Run down homes with doors whose
screens are coming off the hinges,
with doors that
Winter in a packed-to-the-brim house-
black beans and cornbread as supper
for the fourth night in a row.
The cold is rough for the poor people.
A hand-me-down sweater barely keeps me warm
The boy wakes up in bed
The girl wakes up from the ground
The boy jumps in the warm shower
The girl gets in the river instead
The boy puts on his fresh clean shirt
I needed it.
A search for help
comes too late,
to those who wait.
Not a cry or yelp
will be of use.
I waited too long
I missed the deadline.
I sing my song
of emptiness,
