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Looking beyond what is there,
I see Detroit.
The beautiful struggle.
children run a foot race in the street,
littered with trash.
Sunshine lightly dusting needles that
were needed to sting the dope fiend.
the sound of gun shots backed by a string
of screams that sing us to sleep, sweet dreams.
Under the overpass,
people lay waiting to pass over,
in hopes of being born again as they are.
Cops and robbers,
motherless mothers and fatherless fathers.
It gets harder as the strong become harder.
Blind to recession.
The poor have always been poor.
Black, white or otherwise.
with the uncanny ability to survive.
Copyright © 2011 Daunt'e Loper