Here I sit amidst the smell of shit
At my normal spot
It’s December but its still fucking hot
*chukles*…..In more ways than one.
No Christmas bells ringing
Just the sound of an AK47 singing.
Ears cocked listening to an Uzi’s
magazine lock.
Writing line after line to a symphony
of gunshots…..The crack of a Desert Eagle
in syncopation with an M16….see the shottas
walkin wid dat gangsta lean.
No sorrel drink….can’t even think….No rum
Cake…the stove’s broke…..momma can’t bake.
We nuh have nuh food around here but my gun costs
7,000 US dollars I swear.
Shit would be funny if it wasn’t deadly.
Tipped some of my beer to the dirt….This one’s
for you Headley.
Took another sip and tipped it again…..This one’s
for all the fallen soldiers….Homies and friends.
Ma Dupes….all those that dropped out this year.
We still nuh have 3 square but we in di struggle out here.
So I write…..Write till my knuckles bleed .
Write and tek a puff a di weed.
We live in poverty while the arms dealers thrive on greed.
Nowhere to go…..By the gullyside and watch the green water flow.
Nothing better to do yuh dun know.
So here I sit by the gullyside amidst the smell of shit.
Trying to make the best of it.



© zenpoet