Poem 1

Taste the ink 

Melting into 

The concrete 

Watching the 

Cherub faced boy 

As you take him home. 

The hall of juveniles 

Have not yet tainted 

His innocence.

It’s almost sad 

To see him go 

Before his time 

Of passage into 

The streets of the ghetto. 

Like a fairy you

Sprinkle pixie dust 

Upon his brow 

Giving him the 

Imagination to fly 

High above the 

Green walls that 

Held the unwanted 

Child prisoner. 

Watching as you walk off 

With his tiny hand in yours, 

He takes four steps

To your every two, 

One can hear 

The boy’s heart filled 

With fear and excitement 

At the story that is about to begin...