A poem by Greg Bronson
Big Mike stood in the street,
Looking for shade from the heat,
Gazing at the landscape.
People yelling, cop cars, a man in the street.
Concerned about the temperature, my thoughts turned to me.
If I was laid on the concrete, summer day, no shade,
Someone grab some water.
Is he OK?
I looked down, turning towards his face,
My face? My fate?
Go fetch momma, don’t leave me in this place.
I’ve been here too long.
Don’t let kids examine this space.
Their tiny eyes grizzled from memories that won’t fade.
One day this won’t be their life here.
Their lives will have shade.
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