In the shadows,
Against the alley side wall
Of a coffeeshop,
A pack of pale, teen poets lean hard.
Black tank-topped and tattooed.
Wearing shades, nose rings
And smoke rings.
White hands
Clutching black bound journals.
Leaking pessimism.
In the sun
And down the street,
Believers burst from a church
Spilling over the walk and burned out lawn.
Colorful as macaws.
Buzzing with fever. Still
Singing and praising.
Black hands
Waving white Bibles.
Bubbling optimism.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem