Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

ghetto rat

ghetto rats and more
many ghetto rats, abhorred
by many whites
and more.
are on the way,
she loudly cracks
the moon
weeping sores
perfumy farts and snores.
i wait for self esteem
to crawl between
my words.
Two beady eyes so red
i see them not
as ghetto rats but as my friends.
they let me sleep
and bother not my weepy
as sleep crawls up and out
between the cracks
i call my home.
brown paper bag still half full
of rot gut johnny walker
creeps away
as ghetto rats
sleep up inside my pant legs.
ghetto rats
they keep me warm
where you would not,
my friend.
are you in denial
my father is in jail
my mothers going back
to get some more.

Submitted: Wednesday, December 23, 2009

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