simple farmer

I made a confused turn into a street that shall remain nameless

Normally they tell you don’t drive there

in the day time

I drive slow taking in the scenes

woman on corner baby in arms dancing

Solemnly

Women huddled around trays of snacks and knick knacks

Poverty comforts

Cigarette booze crack weed mints

Orange objects in a bag to be eaten

I drive slow watching out

And them watching back at me

Some delighted

Some horrified

Loud music is screaming from a box next to the poverty comforts

Some wave some mumble

Some should pleasantries

Off to the side

A Bevy o crack heads dancing to shaggy scent of a woman

A few more cocaine floating in their veins

Lost in their little heaven on earth

One entertains himself

Head buried deep in a half five gallon bottle

a few more sleep gently

Eyes wide open staring out

Looking beyond me

Through me

And up the heavens talking to god

And the neighbor next door

Who is also talking to god and not listening

Neither seems to notice

And not that it matters

Everyone seemed happy

Dancers and the ones talking to god

Poverty is violence

sometimes dancing to a sound track

Of a popular hit song

And it’s when they’re most free

You find them slipping deeper into bondage

Dancing

Praying

Shouting

Celebrating in the streets

Chronicling good life 2018

Be free