I drive up Ashe, past rows of shotgun shacks
that were erected thirty years ago
as subsidized apartments for the poor;
but now the rich want condos down to Snow,
so poor Caucasians, Mexicans, and Blacks
all have eviction papers on their doors
allotting thirty days to pack and go.
The dozers roar to life the first of June,
a grim endeavor in a dark affair,
destroying roots to sow the 'public good'
so land developers can then declare,
'We'll have attractive downtown housing soon, '
as windowed steel replaces shanty wood
to shine like diamonds in elitist air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brilliant poem David, so well written and a real treat to read. Loved this one. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX