Economic inconsistencies spark societal realities
and it seems that there’s little else
many have going for themselves.
Engaging joyous spectral matches
math equations put another soul in the mix
no one’s fixed to give critical care
and dare she’d even suggested
that he’d used protection
hard-score reaction gained traction
and before you know it
she’s in competition with the girlfriends
double-parked outside the dwelling
of a 30-year-old grandmother.
And she’s not my little girl
but I bother
because her natural father
lands farther and farther away with each subsequent bust
so someone must.
At fifteen she wants to make a career of spitting nursery rhymes
a contrarian Mary who already knows
that her garden grows
each time Lil Rashawn makes probation
contributions to an underground nation
weaned on powdered fodder
and tax dollars.
Again in proud formations
of double-parked baby carriages
colorfully arrayed on city sidewalks
almost as common a sight as the spent bullet shells
of fathers who are casualties of an undeclared war
or are all too commonly spending their days and nights
off in some encaged factory
nine-to-27 years in the distance.
So a new summer dawns
and again we have adolescents amassed outside the classic venues
many comparable to hell
with too few boys in the mix stirring the baby formula
after the check is cut and the fix for nourishment gels.
Then again night falls
and the formulaic incursions gain heat
The summer streets abound anew
with fresh young faces
always ready to gather among double-parked baby carriages
but never among young mothers and fathers
for impending marriages.