STREET CORNER BLUES

Drug dealers bicker
with urban Muslim prophets
over space on the block.

Broken glass turns into
valuable gems for a child’s vivid
after school daydreams.

Breasts bargain for cash,
hanging over open car windows;
too grown for sixteen.

A storefront preacher
cites pertinent street scriptures,
saving ghetto youths.

Gangs choose their colors
red or blue rags over brown skin,
new age genocide.

Drunken man stumbles,
former pro basketball star,
now begging for change.

I hand him money,
but I cannot give him change;
he must pray for that.

The downtown shuttle
once again arrives too late,
the third time this week.

Bus stop musicians
chant their sad street corner blues;
I keep my head high.




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