Iceberg Tip Poem by Barry Van Allen

He even did it in the light of day,
a Nine- year - old or so,
used as but a pawn, I think,
a young black boy from the neighborhood.

I chased him down the alley,
he was way too fast for me,
and as he ran away from me,
the reasons, I began to see.

His neighborhood was rubble,
and his buildings housing rats,
he stole to have a life, I guess,
but, I can't agree with that.

He was quick into my auto,
and then of all the things,
he carried off my music,
with all the joy it brings.

I drove his streets in search of him,
and much to my surprise,
I began to see him differently,
for I so old and semi - wise,
begot an education,
on the streets that told no lies.

In the deep parts of the city,
among the projects and the parks,
behind the main roads,
that we travel daily,
even in the brightest sun,
he lives a life that's dark.

It took me years to get my tunes back,
twenty some odd years ago,
but if he had not stolen them,
I never would have known,
what I know now.