Brooks Reitz

(Henderson, Kentucky)

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,
everyone says,
but all around us,
people are dead.
are we living in a luxury?....zzzz....

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Read poems about / on: murder, people, house

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003

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