Grandmother in the Ghetto

Born and raised in the ghetto
Where kids don't hear soft rock or heavy metal
But in the streets, kids run around with heavy metal
With no words, just heat, that how beef gets settled
Grandmother in the kitchen, waiting there with her tea kettle
Kids never come home, but instead it's the streets they roam
And grandmothers mind is in the danger zone
She stops everything, her life postponed
and her mind is steadily on the phone
She picks up the reciever, but all she hears is the dial tone
Afraid to call authority, at the same time she'd rather be left alone
Then a couple of hours go by, tears roll down her eye
All you see is tears rolling down with fear
At the moment pure silence, absolutely nothing to hear
With what is this woman dealing?
It is a grandmother thing she is feeling
It is toward her bible she is leaning
Another hour goes by, she begins to cry
A few minutes go by, her front door is now occupied
She walks to the door with a deep sigh
An authority figure says someone had to die
He says it with a lak of sensitivity
Then the lady asks why?
He said because of mistaken identity

Maxime Hilaire

Wrote this poem in 2004. Second Semester of my freshman year in a boring geography class, left the class and finished it in the cafeteria. After writing this poem, I realized I progressed as a writer and as a poet. This poem was also featured in a Clark University Different Voices Newsletter. I found the newsletter last week and now I'm able to share with you guys. I thank God that I don't like to throw things away because if I had thrown the booklet away, this poem would have just been a memory of a good poem I wrote when I was 19.

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 7, 2010 and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response.

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