The District

Sleeping under anvils she lies prone,
Curled up with pain as companion,
Feeling the hammer blows pushing her
Further under, sinking into the earth.

I watch and feel the weight press on me from afar.
Why does the world have me riveted here,
While you wish for the peace of death there?
It is a simple, easy answer that
Echoes across the concrete chasms
Of a society that chooses murdering
Children over caring for children.

Less than a mile from where she lies,
Three schools bustle with thousands of students;
Their textbooks leer dumbly, older than their parents,
And the asbestos grins lecherously from within the rotting walls.
Many of these kids will not finish school or go to college.
Many have no doctor for when they are sick.
Some will be murdered and taken to the grave.
Some will be murderers and taken to jail.
Some will be imprisoned for selling drugs.
Some will be beaten for talking back to a cop.
Some will be taken away by an overdose.
Some will be taken away by crossfire.
Some will be taken away by accident.
None are thought of within the halls of power,
Which stand very few miles from where my love lies.

Gleaming marble structures and towering monuments
Take no more heed of our suffering than do
The men and women of power that
Inhabit the maze we call home.
War memorials multiply
Yet none stand here
For the lives that
Were taken by
Greed and
Neglect.

In bed, she shudders and props up the infinite weight of loneliness.
Nearby, a child stumbles uphill, facing a never-ending walk home.
Lost somewhere in the maze, I struggle to swim through drying cement.