by Jose
Born into my world on a July afternoon in 1974
My ghetto cradled me to its bosom.
I can still remember Her beating heart—
The way she stared at my nakedness
Through the hospital windows.
There are many a Ghetto across the land—
But none like mine…
by Jose
Born into my world on a July afternoon in 1974
My ghetto cradled me to its bosom.
I can still remember Her beating heart—
The way she stared at my nakedness
Through the hospital windows.
There are many a Ghetto across the land—
But none like mine.
Dressed in shards of broken bottles and spent beer cans,
She glitters!
Her walk whispers softly like thunder between alleyways.
Her sweet scent of urine
Bounces off the walls of abandoned buildings.
There are many a Ghetto across the land—
But none like mine.
Her soothing voice sings like punctured speakers
When police sirens ring.
Empty marijuana bags snag
In the cracked pavement of Her gapped teeth.
I love Her—
But she always finds a way
To make me love Her more…
This Ghetto of mine is like fine wine.
Like a wet dream multiplied.
Like a shootout in a movie.
Like candy-coated raindrops.
Late-night, alcohol-fueled arguments spill from Her lips,
Warmly melting into my ears.
Early morning, dogs bark at gunshots,
Warmly melting into my ears.
She is so supportive—
The way heroin addicts
Lean against Her light poles to nod off.
The way STDs
Ooze like honey from her nostrils.
The way She exhales,
Her smog fills my lungs with asthma—
It’s breathtaking!
The way Death kneels
At Her feet to pray—
It’s heavenly!
I can still hear her beating heart—
Especially when She stares at me
Through the prison windows…
She misses me.
There are many a Ghetto across the land—
But none like mine.
Jose is an inmate at Garner Correctional Institution in Newtown, Connecticut. He participates in writing and playwriting and performance workshops, producing poetry, prose, and plays for his classes that are performed for a select audience.
