Luxury - Poem by Brooks Reitz
As I walk to the farmer's market,
just down the street
traces from yesterday's murder,
still draw crowds and the victims blood still reeks,
The guns and knives of this community,
are pulling us down,
making us weak.
And there are rats in our houses,
and the pipes leak.
Just a few days ago,
the boy across the street,
hung himself from his bunk bed,
because the boy's dad was mean,
and the boy was always beat.
It will get better,
but all around us,
people are dead.
are we living in a luxury?....zzzz....
Comments about Luxury by Brooks Reitz
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You