A Poem for Mr. Morales

Neither the dogs
nor the sirens
will stop their howling.

Sometimes I wish I lived in
another part of town.

What
the whites
did to the blacks,
the blacks
now do to
the browns.
And the cycle continues.
Who will ever learn that
there is no top to reach?
Only a lonely peak where you look
down on a world that never
looked up to you.
It's those who agreed to
live in the valley
who are the most happy.
They receive the sun
and the floods and
have learned how to manage both.

Mostly through song.

They should write a song about this.