Walking to my father's house today
With my son in his stroller
This trail is littered
It is abandoned
This used to be the nice part
Of the suburb I live in
But now I carry
Pepper spray in Ian's diaper bag
The leaves have started to grow on the trees
The trash along the creek bed has been
Covered by vines
I feel like this trail sometimes
Abandoned
Littered
Hidden Flaws
All these thoughts flutter through my mind
On this mile walk to my father's house
I realize how racist my city is still
Even though we are in a new century
I realize that I wouldn't be carrying protection
If it wasn't a pre-dominately 'black' area
I don't want to be racist
I don't want to carry pepper spray
The police are racist here
There is more crime in my neighborhood than anywhere else
in the suburb I live in
My neighbors look like crackheads
They are white
I am not racist.
I don't have any money to be racist.
Walking back from my father's house
I have one thought on my mind
My legs hurt
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem