COMRADE FIRST STREET Poem by Julius Chingono
COMRADE FIRST STREET
It was you
who I abhor
Comrade First Street
whose battles are fought
in your mouth
And whose strategies
are mapped on your face.
You talk of arms of war
with all your might
like a firing bazooka.
You repeat the name AK47
Like a burst of rounds
but when the police arrive
you jam
like a rusty FN rifle.
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: battles
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8/28/2026 12:23:21 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
