The Street Racers

Some summer nights
Folks sitting on their front porches
In the city the second ice cream man
Gone little kids called in from
Playing bloody bones
The older boys still
Out looking to impress
Each other and new girlfriends
Would race
On hot black streets
They start at the top
Or around the curve
Five deep
Laughing slapping
Five about the last
Time leaves on trees
That black blood green
Them remembering
To take off t-shirts
For luck
In back jeans pocket
Older uncles
Go call it
They sipping from
Pints and eyes red
A joint passed around
One cool one
Raspy voice
Ready set
He stops and
Swallows
Go
Where does
Hip Hop get
It’s urgency
It’s words
Running from
Killer cops
One block away
The night is
Pierced
That soft
Bang bang bang
Firecrackers don’t
Sound like that
Across the universe
One block away
The gun looking
Good in bro’man’s hand
He crossed the finish
Line faster than us
And keeps
Running
Sweet song
Say take me back
Black boy dead
Around the corner
We all know him
He should have
Been running
With us

Poem by Keith Antar Mason

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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