Detroit

This was my hometown,

I grew up on these streets,

learned how to fight so

I could survive anywhere.

I was mad as hell when

my dad made us move

during the white flight.

“Ain’t nothing here for

us white folks anymore.”

After the riots of ‘67

hatred heated up the night.

I loved the elm tree streets,

but the fat white cats

believed bigger was better.

The unions meant us well,

but in the long run

they ran out of gas,

the auto industry,

the only industry,

crashed in on itself,

leaving the city in ruins,

with boarded up stores

and empty homes

as murder soared,

the long, slow slide

into being a ghost town

took hold without fanfare.

I walk around my hometown,

streets are deserted,

like being in a war zone,

buildings burnt down,

razed to the ground

sirens sound all night long;

how could this happen