Let her beckon until her hands come down
I would not huddle there again
Too green with mold her concrete gown
Too easy to come, my pain
Too nervous listening footsteps near
Or the stopping car
Or the door that will no jar
Or the sudden cataract of tear
Justice does not serve well those who feel
Upon the heart the crunch of human heel
Liberty is a statue here, dead of all compassion
The butt of my derision.
Let her tease my hunger with her tongue
Although below her on the rung
Her dress unfluttered in the wind, dies
Beyond excitement in the dusty eyes.
Let me yearn instead on my tropic shore
To love, to laugh, to glee forever. She shall
Beckon me, my eyes are closed to the magical.