Prospect StreetWhy is she walking down the street
In high-heeled, clip-clop shoes so late?
It isn't safe out here. She's wrapped
Up in a heavy coat, a fortress, and her
Face is fierce. The dope-dumb boys
Who pass by, making cracks get nothing
Out of her, except that look, “Don't mess
With me.” Her grandma needs a quart
Of milk. Somewhere nearby, some
Sirens sound. Beyond the silhouettes
Of houses on this street, the jeweled
Buildings at the city center twinkle,
Trophies of the white man's realm.
It's not somewhere she often goes.
A white man slumps inside his car,
Too drunk to finish driving home.
He sees her, and he thinks she's regal,
But he doesn't say a word. Her face
Is fierce. Those boys are near.
It isn't safe out here.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 56 times
Written on 2018-11-13 at 02:03
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