Poetry

Dispatch #029

The Pushouts 
 
By Aqueila M. Lewis-Ross 
 
 
The City that nevers sleeps is silent 
Forced to quarantine like everyone else 
No wonder the Mayor complains  
Dollars were always made here 
But now she sleeps 
 
It's hot as hell and hades is awakened 
The homeless made visible 
Letting flesh burn while laying on dirty streets 
We rush to the nearest air conditioned stores 
hoping to be the first to let masked skin get soothed.  
 
We travelers migrated here 
After being pushed out 
Not sure if disease of the mind or body is to blame. 
War has been here all along. 
It slowly crept in 
And the rest of the world is now up to speed. 
 
But in our hearts we hold on to hope 
For safe-keeping 
For healing 
For clarity 
For love 
For home 
 
Sometimes pushing is needed 
So greatness can have a seat on the throne!  
 
 April 28, 2020 

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