American Junk in Seattle

a poem by Iam Dunton

Walking about Seattle,

seeing needles on the street

and the American Junkie, my heart

began to rattle.

My mind stirred with voices

of Freakonomics. After all,

I had studied economics.

I talked to some and hung out and

about to see what had put these

folks on this route.

The skyscrapers, yuppies and

corporations, these boys and girls

got lost in Seattle’s economic


High rent, high tech, no one gives

a fuck, not even the cops as they

drive by one of these kids drooling

on the sidewalk, but I stop and shake him,

glad to find out he could still talk.

That kid was okay, but what about today?

No one really cares, but it’s easy to help if

one dares.

It’s not a police problem, it’s a community

problem, but ‘merica and the Emerald City have

no real community, no soul. The junk from

Amazon and gentrification has taken its toll.

So, I sit at home now, my mind starting to

rage wondering when humanity will take charge

and make a change? Community and unity,

it’s our intrinsic human responsibility.

I think about those souls, that kid again,

lying in drool on the corner of the street,

a needle by his feet. Is he okay?

Who’s going to check on him today?

Don’t forget to stop by the GUA Shop