Poetry Submission: Chicago

By A.M. Watson
I walk through a field with concrete for grass skyscrapers for trees and people for buzzing bees The air is musky sometimes wet sometimes dry it’s an elixir of sweat Michigan’s lake breeze black smoke from buses and cars and Corporate America’s dirty ass I stand in the middle of a rusted bridge above a murky green river and under the lights of buildings that I sometimes dream would crumble and reveal the dead bodies of the thousands of black children whose bullets that are lodged deep in their scalps deep in their hearts whose blood is ignored and painted over by cream colored castles glass towers that reflect and absorb the light of everyone else except us. That this city wasn’t built with us in mind it was built to hide and wash over our blackness.  


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