Grass Don’t Grow in the Ghetto
Glass glistens where grass is supposed to grow.
Gruesome grooves pierce the ground jutting upward
Like black fists punching stale air.
Sharp petaled flowers memorialize
Dreams, wishes and whispers of hope
And for the life of me I can’t figure out why grass don’t grow in the ghetto.
Gaping glok gashes sets his face aglow
In the afterglow of a grappling with the Po Po.
Gory glimpses of faded glory is merely
A glimmer in his flittering eyes.
Groping for remnants of his vitality,
It slips through his fingers
His mother curses the fingers
That pulled the trigger.
THEY SHOT MY SON! Mowed down like blades of green grass
Growing toward a glaring sun. MY SON!
His spirit pierces white clouds, thrust upward
Like a black fist punching stale air.
Still can’t figure out why grass don’t grow in the ghetto.
His homies pour libations
“1 sip for you….10 gulps for me”
Believing that the blood stained tree roots next to the yellow tape and chalked silhouette
Would serve as his esophagus and deliver liquid resurrection power
But before he could rise from the dead,
His homies would wash away urban poetry
With hawk spits and hot piss
Leaving nothing behind but
Shattered liquor bottles and the stench of dreams deferred.
Still wondering why grass don’t grow in the ghetto?
Our sprinkler system spews putrid defeat
We fertilize our seeds with
Maggot-filled cow chips and
AKA a bunch of real stinky SHIT.
We eat our young and throw up our old.
Killing our future while immortalizing our past.
We excuse hate when the hater is the hunter
And a little black boy is the bate.
Grass CAN’T grow in the ghetto as long as
The grass stays greener on the other side.
As long as economical, medical and educational divides
Are wider than the spance between my eyes.
Glass will continue to glisten where grass is supposed to grow
Until our so called social services become true human services
Until our equality is no longer a no go
But something we do know going forward
Until our narcissistic greed ceases to be our ladder
And the lives of black boys and girls really do matter
In the meantime, we’ll politic, pontificate and perseverate
The problems that plague the brown people
Ignoring the glass that glistens where grass is supposed to grow
Acting like we can’t figure out
Why grass don’t grow in the ghetto.