The Poisoning of a City
The streets are lined with burnt out houses.
I found your old place looking as
vacant eyed as a crazy person’s mind.
(We are black, we are poor.
We are white,we are poor.)
Death – immediate and still forthcoming,
lives shattered
children living in despair ….
their relief ? … poison from a tap.
(We are black, we are poor.
We are white, we are poor.)
Chaos and violence rule the streets,
anarchy is master
and hopelessness grows
in the city that has never been loved.
© Photo and poem Carole Fults
Inside-out Art and Writing 