Black Boy

Black boy plays hooky

Black boy runs

Black boy got no love

Black boy got no talent

Black boy sprays his graffiti

On a wall in Harlem

A wall

A wall in Harlem.

Dream-stained bricks

On the corner of Park Avenue.

They are bound by mortar

Defined by the can that touches it

Or rather,

It that touches the can

May not sleep in the clouds,

But forever will be here

Constantly breathing,

Replaying short clips

To tourists’ eyes

Of what could have been

But could not be

Black boy no good

Black boy don’t care

Black boy don’t listen

Though thousands in this city will

With eardrums dissolved

Into the darkness of pupils

The darkness of a city is a facade

For the shadows of bright colors

And bubbled letters.

Unwritten men never did look up to them.

We have to now.

Black boy shot.

Black boy 25 to life.

Black boy lives on.