A short poem about two kids growing up in the ghetto
|John and Jane
Go to bed stupid and then wake up a fool.
Hang out at the corner instead of at school.
You know you do sometimes, but don't know what you do.
A mind in the frame of a youngster, still the frame of a fool.
You joined a gang sadly when you barely turned seven.
You'd robbed a few neighbors just shy of eleven.
We prayed for your soul, but prayed we'd go to heaven.
Fear where you'll end up John, do you never question?
Born in the ghetto a mere block to the south.
Sat displayed in a chair and laid bare on a couch.
Trained to do nothing but run off at the mouth.
Jane, we tasted your breath before it was foul.
We used to sob loudly as you picked out your coffin.
Spoke loudly and then whispered, but still spoke up often.
But you swore you knew better with gum just a-poppin.
Though we were not forced, we swore love in warm cotton.
Then just as we sighed ourselves darkly to sadness.
The sun came out brightly and absorbed all the badness.
You two grew up beautiful and filled us with gladness.
And now we have faith in our madness.