Black Lives Matter, Contemplations, Justice, Poetry, Reflections, Social Commentary


I wait in the courthouse

for my 13 year old client

to be brought to Juvenile Justice

After patted down and frisked

by arsenals in uniform

he shuffles from a concrete cell 

in shackles of shame

to the court room and back

to his steel spring bed

He is a child at risk   

who when released

returns scared & scarred 

to the hood

without a neighbor 

Where homies share war stories

as cop cars cruise

to catch gang bangers

and wannabes 

in the ghettos and barrios 

of the other America