by TW Crawford

let me tell you about my city
where many 
folks envy
the lights
dance in the night
all in spite
of the pain they see
where reality
is escaped
innocence raped
and tagged
refuge is found in brown-paper
and stag
sip from liquor bottles
and figures model
the latest in urban-temporary fashions
offering rashions
of passions
but seldom the whole enchilida
where a father
lost his daughter 
to the slaughter
and some fathers
don't even bother
to raise their sons
to become
more than what they've
no one 
seems to care
that you live here
cause they live somewhere
So everybody goes for self
and wealth
and the poor get poorer
and the rich run for the border
but who can blame them?
only insane men
named "Damien"
worship the devils pie!
but something caught my eye
just yesterday
in a brief sway
I saw 4 little girls
with curls
and bows
in the ghetto
jumping rope 
and when I looked at the rope
it was hope
and one of the girls smiled at me
and said she was gonna be
all right
and she was right
cuz it aint where you start at
it's where you end at!
So I turned to slap 
my boy on the back
and remind him
that we can win
with tiny steps again 
and again
and now I see
everthing ain't pretty
as long as baby girls 
with chocolate curls
find room in this world
to jump rope,
I guess my city still has 

City by TW Crawford

© Copyright 2001. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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