American Junk in Seattle
a poem by Iam Dunton
Walking about Seattle,
seeing needles on the street
and the American Junkie, my heart
began to rattle.
My mind stirred with voices
of Freakonomics. After all,
I had studied economics.
I talked to some and hung out and
about to see what had put these
folks on this route.
The skyscrapers, yuppies and
corporations, these boys and girls
got lost in Seattle’s economic
machinations.
High rent, high tech, no one gives
a fuck, not even the cops as they
drive by one of these kids drooling
on the sidewalk, but I stop and shake him,
glad to find out he could still talk.
That kid was okay, but what about today?
No one really cares, but it’s easy to help if
one dares.
It’s not a police problem, it’s a community
problem, but ‘merica and the Emerald City have
no real community, no soul. The junk from
Amazon and gentrification has taken its toll.
So, I sit at home now, my mind starting to
rage wondering when humanity will take charge
and make a change? Community and unity,
it’s our intrinsic human responsibility.
I think about those souls, that kid again,
lying in drool on the corner of the street,
a needle by his feet. Is he okay?
Who’s going to check on him today?
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