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On the Street of the Bronx
by
Janeece Vance
On the streets of the Bronx
during Monday morning,
rush hour,
amusement and pain
overwhelms me...
Laughter:
as children run
trailing behind an ice cream truck
hands waving
mouths watering
and change falling;
as they all seek relief from the brisk hot sun.
Timorous:
as an angry "John" strikes "his woman"
she softly sobs
as his hand covers her mouth,
he retrieves "HIS" money from her bosom.
Saddened:
as I pass the homeless man on the corner;
he smells of sweat and urine
his hands outstretched
and his honest eyes meet mine.
With pity in my heart, I give what I can give.
But others walk by in disbelief,
and I know mine is not enough.
Outraged:
as a child, under the age of 13,
walks distortedly
toward the drug dealers on the corner
to satisfy his high.
My mother instincts kick in
to rescue him from his addiction.
Disappointed:
as brothers are fighting brothers.
There's arguments, fistfights,
and weapons emerging.
An audience forms
encouraging those brothers
to "defend to the end!"
I close my eyes
on hopes of a dream.
I open my eyes,
I am...
Disappointed
Ashamed
Hurt
Outraged
Confused
And disrespected!
On the streets of the Bronx,
these are every day occurrences.
I see "my people",
I scream to "my people",
"Wake UP!!!!!"
on hopes of ending this cycle of disruption.
No one hears
-and-
No one chooses to take the blame.
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