My Harlem Poem by Ron Poetry

This is my Harlem...
Live corpses wander littered sidewalks
Shoeless, clueless, toothless and tired...
The refuse of a city built on broken promises.
Pregnancy runs rampant - a self-perpetuating disease
Along with 9a.m. alcoholism
And prison tattoo battle scars.
Rap music blares from an old boombox.., remember that chick dancing in front of 125th record shop?
An antiquated relic spouting unrealized dreams.
Homeless and jobless soldiers of misfortune, war with the streets..
Congregate with social workers
As they wearily sigh in gospel harmony.
Hookers led by pimps work thankless jobs
Pumping the lifeblood of Manhattan
Even in broad daylight;
Like vampires immune to a sun shrouded in smog.
The living dead search for ways
To blend into a society that glitters
In defiance of their pain
With fake nails, a cigarette, and McDonald's fries.
Our Park ave has no glitter or gold but it holds history to white folks its holds mystery, to those that got lost out there it holds misery.. But still..
That's my Harlem..that's my LIFE.