Philly Toll 321 Poem by barbara williams
Philly Toll 321
Number 321
for the year
that's how you'll be
recorded and remembered
SLAM!
bullet in the back
they'll pour bleach on the asphalt-
you'll get a blurb
at six and eleven
another brother dead...
whities assume
banger, pusher
neighbors shake their heads
tout your worth
shut their doors
Sit tight young man
in limbo? heaven? hell?
'cause tomorrow -
will mock today
as you greet
number 322.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 6:45:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
