December 4, 2013

Losing The Race

Those dark-skinned thugs
On the street selling drugs
Always walking so proud
Playing that rap so loud

Drug dealers and hoods
Always up to no good
Gotta keep them in check
Before society gets wrecked

Don’t get caught being
Or you’ll find it’s not pretty
When you come through my city

(Across The Tracks)

White-bread crackers
Suburbanite slackers
Rollin’ through the hood
Thinkin’ they look good

Driving nice cars, they
Act like they’s on safari
Looking out the window
To see all this ‘ghetto’

But we just can’t ignore
How they lock all the doors
Eyes darting with fright
When they stop at a light


Let us unlearn the things
That we’ve all been taught
By the scared and small-minded
Who so declared what ought

Or ought not to be
(Or so they had said)
They are wrong, gone
And long-since dead


  1. Well, Bubba, our man, this is a fine poem, but it is fully an 87, not a 55; but no sweat; maybe do some trimming before you drop it in at Mr. Knowitall's Flash 55 with G-Man tommorrow; liked the poetics; just was surprised at the size.

  2. Then again, it was presumptuous of me to follow you back here from the comment you were kind enough to leave on my site, and just assume you were participating in the dVerse & G-Man prompts.


You may put in your 2¢ worth, but I'll only pay you a penny for your thoughts.