we was them what
was discarded,
you ‘n’ me,
what was
pulled
out the garden
lest we grew
among
more respectable
blooms
and spoiled
the papa’s
view
we was what
was wasted,
cursed
like the match
that burned
his fingers
‘n’ tossed
to the wind
like something
used up
good for
nothin’
he said
“ain’t shit”
“ain’t gonna do,
ain’t gonna be
goddamned
nothin…”
we was them
what knowed
the poor
the disenfranchised
the broken
the broke
the refugee
‘n’ all those
discarded
‘n’ disregarded
was our people,
them
what gravitated
to the weary
rust
‘n’ dilapidation
of those lives,
reassurin’ who we
found there,
befriendin’ who
we could
when we could
‘cause
they was
our people…
‘n’ what else
could we do?
