I hear you, loud and angry, "Give me back my kids"! "Put your hand in the air"! "This is a raid"! "gotta get to work", "Gotta find work" "Damn these lights" " ....and if you so choose to waive these rights..."
Your buildings are on fire, and your houses are in foreclosure, and the mom and pop are being gang banged by their own childeren who once picked up bread and milk for thier own mom and pop.
The war spreads from block to block, as the price for life, the price for shame the wadge to live grows higher and higher..."Where is this bus"? "We are sorry to say that we are shutting down the plant.." "Can you tell me where I can find..." "Fuck! my hours got cut" "his father is no where around".. "Detour?.. they are still working on this ground"?
Your daughters are selling it.. while husbands at home couldn't buy it. the house next to the bank...is running its on revenue, and its premiums are twenty bucks a pop...but its annuites are solid, rock...as the biggest brokers in the city are the fucking cops.
Your babies, are sticky, and lost, and welfare gets fat behind desks, with running shoes on, but Armani suit jackets and cashimere tops.
Your judges are in the pockets of politicians, and strippers are in the shoes of thier wives..no dirt- no glory, no ipod-no connection, while your streets are being spun together by crime, and mahiem, blood soaked steps, and teens are washed away by the tears of the twine of mothers.
-Ode to you Euclid avenue, for you have more sorrows than I ever could.
original work
by
monika veliz
