at twelve clocks,
off to the mailbox.
no one saw him fall.
at work.
on company time.
but, the company’s dime
is making him ghetto rich
for a couple or three days
out of every month.
**********
off to the store with the red and yellow sign.
five chicken wings – that’s what’s up.
salt, pepper, ketchup?
two loosies, and a fifty cent hug.
he hollers at shorty,
who doesn’t even shrug,
pays him no mind
(why she so unkind?).
never needed you.
it’s all good.
there’s more fish in the sea,
(to himself) said he.
malt liquor chaser
for a two o’clock blunt.
**********
no hustle and bustle,
just the hustle.
getting by, getting high,
getting paid off a slip-and-fall case.
living that fast pace,
always up in your face.
ever poor,
never rich, an’
always bitchin’,
wouldn’t dare be caught snitchin’.
and he never lets it all inside his head.
man-child: ghetto born and bred.
**********
copyright 2008 blackstarr
freerealm@gmail.com
**********
VIDEO
Images used in this post are from various sites across the web. If any photos belong to you and you have an objection, e-mail me ad I will have them removed
got malt? (excerpt from “the village”)
Posted in humor, poetry, political commentary, politics, satire and sarcasm, social commentary with tags african-american think tanks, angry black man, blackstarr, blunts, case, chinese store, company dime, freedom, ghetto, hugs, hustle, lawyers, loosies, malt liquor, poor, poverty, realm of darkness, round the way girls, salt pepper ketchup, shorty, slip and fall, snitch, technorati, the village, the wordsmith's alley on September 8, 2010 by blackstarrat twelve clocks,
off to the mailbox.
no one saw him fall.
at work.
on company time.
but, the company’s dime
is making him ghetto rich
for a couple or three days
out of every month.
**********
off to the store with the red and yellow sign.
five chicken wings – that’s what’s up.
salt, pepper, ketchup?
two loosies, and a fifty cent hug.
he hollers at shorty,
who doesn’t even shrug,
(why she so unkind?).
never needed you.
it’s all good.
there’s more fish in the sea,
(to himself) said he.
malt liquor chaser
for a two o’clock blunt.
**********
just the hustle.
getting by, getting high,
getting paid off a slip-and-fall case.
living that fast pace,
always up in your face.
ever poor,
never rich, an’
always bitchin’,
wouldn’t dare be caught snitchin’.
and he never lets it all inside his head.
man-child: ghetto born and bred.
**********
copyright 2008 blackstarr
freerealm@gmail.com
**********
Images used in this post are from various sites across the web. If any photos belong to you and you have an objection, e-mail me ad I will have them removed
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