Chicano Poet

Friday, October 09, 2009

Stopping By The Hoods On A Summer Evening

Whose hoods these are I think I know.
His crib next to a burnt out store;
he will not mind if I hang out
to watch the streets fill up with punks.

His fellow gang bangers don’t think it gay
when he won’t whistle at the ho
who leans into the window of a car
on this darkest night of the year.

He gives his gun a twirl
to put all women in their place.
The only other sound’s
the hip hop raping of the wind.

The hoods are lovely, dark and deep,
but he has brothers yet to shoot.
He smiles before he goes to sleep,
he smiles before he goes to sleep.


At 12:40 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hopefully all those who are pretending to be from the streets will understand the gist of these poem (If they read it) This includes. all those, university professors who speak Calo without having lived "the life." Their is a penalty to pay for living this life style, don't those wannabees understand?

E. Bernal

At 5:07 PM, Blogger RC said...



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