Above Crenshaw smog hangs heavy
while hectic buses putter by
wheezing out thick clouds, similar
to weed smoke from the swisher tip,
opposite the end where we press
lips to suck down serenity,
streets where colors make enemies,
where power is represented
by crack sales, shell toes, and cell phones,
by jail time, tattoos, spitting rhymes,
blocks where vatos sip Agave
tequilana, with heads shaved bald,
voices that roll R's and speak of
the grimy smog of poverty.
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