The Ghetto Queen

a dirty little face and grubby clothes

her castle is made of bricks

in a forest of beautiful red

with bars and wire

that bloom majestically

in cement and tar

not far in the charms of her realm

graffitti covers the walls with art

the train tracks are hers to hop

there are accidents to see over the rail

and her lovely vacant lot with chicory

there are firetrucks and sirens

stones and broken glass of many colors

the treasures of her realm

children crying, laughing too

she and her minions pick dandelions

they giggle and tie them together for a crown

the dirty little ghetto queen never wears a frown



  • baj-a

    you project such wonderfully vivid images in this poem. love this one. a typo in the 3rd line from the end and in the second line from the end need fixed. once fixed the poem will read beautifully.

  • bigwolf

    only to feel such freedom again

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