Barrio Poem by robert dickerson

Today is St Patrick's Day-but here in the Barrio
there's little green to see
Green is the color of money
there's precious little of that here,
this being the land of Section-8 housing, children
and large, dull-looking dogs with such powerful jaws
one simply moves to the other side of the street.
Nevertheless there's color:
there's the red and blue of the triangular flag;
there's the silver moon of the trashcan lid
and the gold of the real moon;
there's the azure pulse of the congas;
there's the yellow of the yellow cabs
speeding down the avenue to the next light;
there's the black velvet of the night sky;
there's the glint of Mars so pink;
and, a sort of electrical ADD,
a share of frantically blinking, left-over Christmas lights.
But green-no, you have to go downtown for that-
amidst smiling youth, arms linked.
There you'll see green aplenty: seas of it
on the subway, on the buses.
You'll see it on the 3.
A sweater here, a stocking there, a scarf, a tam,
the furtive lining of a necktie.
But here in the Barrio don't look for it-
nor for that famous parade:
green is too much like money
there's precious little of that, here.