Vignettes Of A Ghetto
and post notes and photos about your poem like Edward Ibeh.
A morning bustles with activity. Folks go about their day, including a Siamese cat creeping past the sidewalk. But appearances are deceiving. This place ain't Disney World. Every day is a struggle for survival. A disheveled, drug-addicted homeless man across the street sits in the bower, on his cot. He's lost in a delirium; under the influence of something. It's an egregious sight.
Damn, someone done shot and killed Shorty. He's lying in a pool of blood.
A blood-soaked woman is wailing over his corpse. Could it be his girl, or his mama? Man, life sure is tough in these streets! It's quite a rude awakening! Police sirens that blare at night portend a sense of ominousness. Yet another gunshot victim? A drug bust? What is it now!?
Raised voices come from inside a slipshod row home defaced with obtuse grafitti. An indigent, unhappily married couple are intensely yelling yet again over each other for God knows what reason. In another room, their only son,
Rodney, lies supine on his bed staring at the ceiling, thinking unfathomable thoughts. He doesn't bother to mediate. He's numb to the frequent squabbles.
Yet another fight goes down out in the open, for all to see! Hazel-eyed Keisha, a feisty yet delicate young woman with a café-au-lait complexion and a leonine mane of curly jet-black hair is raving mad! She's with child, and she's publicly chewing out her lazy boyfriend, Khalil, who isn't interested in either finding a job or fully committing to her. Who could blame her?
Two high school-age friends, Jamal and Charles, sit on the stoop blasting "Juicy" by The Notorious B.I.G. on a stereo. They consecrate their time talking about girls and basketball. They share laughs as they puff and pass marijuana cigarette to each other. A glass door behind them, cracked. A boarded-up window to the side, shattered by rough-housing kids.
Tweens roam the streets like stray dogs at sundown, way past their curfew
Where are their parents? Well, a lot of them don't have fathers, and their busy, working moms can only monitor their whereabouts for so long. One of these kids will go home to a house with no electricity, shut off because his parents were far behind on the electricity bill. But then, that's life...in the ghetto.
Eight Word Challenge 9 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Date written and submitted: 08/17/2019
Copyright © Edward Ibeh | Year Posted 2019