Hope is my Imaginary Friend

poetry salvage

The stage is set for my city’s Third World War.

The movement is just beginning When snipers ruin it.

I’ve seen the ruins over and over. This time three miles of city blocks have smashed windows.

Justice is never delivered. It is sent back with No Known Address.

That’s right. The homeless have no address. They have a life, a name, but no rights — And no Voice.

“I can’t breathe — “

That’s wrong. A man gets swept up like garbage. When he is a person whose home should be with us.

I wish there was a serum to inoculate us from the violence of justice denied.

Hope catches its breath in the penumbra where our thrashing feelings can’t reach.

Outrage is our prayer. Yes, it is ugly. It has to be. When no-one will listen.

Hope I know you are out there. Walk with me awhile, So I can believe that Freedom exists for all of us.

I am done with Justice.

( in memory of Mr. George Floyd)