Written by Kyle Wahl
A poem I wrote after experiencing the reality of racial divide and bigotry in a rough neighborhood.
Down in the hood out on west Lincoln street
I stop for a smoke then who do I meet?
A couple of cats who wanted the bag –
A couple of my smokes they took for a drag.
I check out my sights and they got me dead to rites.
They say “boy get steppin’ ‘less you tryna get hurt
Cuz me n’ my boys, we on red alert.
See they ain’t all cool with your looks and your clothes,
And I ain’t all cool cuz we’re nobody you know.”
So I picked up my bag after he’d said his piece,
Only after I told him I bring only peace.
He looked up at me, hands waving and pissed –
some carry the flower, some carry the fist.
Text © Kyle Wahl
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