Ghetto Summers (part 1)

With summer rapidly approaching, I thought it only fitting to present an oldie-but-good entitled "Ghetto Summers", a seven (7) part poem which chronicles life in my beloved ghetto. Enjoy.

Charlene Leans

Her son is no where in sight,

But, as she squints at the fading rays of sunlight,

Charlene

leans

out of her second story window,

and, without looking, calls (yells) “Malachi !”

He frowns

as her sounds

disrupt the flow

of a well-earned free-throw.

From blocks away, the voice of his mother

sends him towards home,

and, in two strides, he is at his doorstep.

To his misfortune, so is his mother.

She lets out screams,

and, lets out blares,

and, without out fail,

she always out stares

him, as he blankly searches

for reasons (excuses) for such a messy room,

or, for shooting hoops when dinner would soon

be on the table.

Perhaps she yells because

his once-worn underwear

is under a chair,

or, elsewhere,

instead of where

he knows they belong.

Who knows why a mother screams?

But, Charlene leans,

and, Malachi

never has to wonder why.

copyright © 09.07.1997 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, The New Millennium, ghetto summers, basketball, poetry, free-throw, teenagers