Dis- Poem by f. berhan kebede

Dis-



torn clothes, sandals to jeans and tanktops
holding daily bread to stretch aluminum cans, chips in hand
crossing streets
looking both wayhs
goods overhead walking to wheels turning around
u-turns in consecutive moves
let's go to this party
let's go hang out
and talk about
and laugh
so we can ease our way to the next destination
but you already there
and i'm across the way
hold fast for me, african
you see
'I've never been there but it's home
but not mine'
'You are lucky to grow up there'
must be money in trees
'cause brothas is hanging from 'em.

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