Poem for the Homeys

Homeys of today
Homeys of yesterday
Homeys of tomorrow

Big homeys
little homeys
in between homeys
and homeys to come

Homeys that never
had a chance to
breathe, never wrote a
poem, never had a chance
to come home

the first homeys
to walk the earth
were my uncles, and your
uncles and your father and
his father and let’s not forget
the sisters ’cause they
homeys too

Ain’t talking homey
sapiens, we walked better
than that, had more style
than that

Homey, what’s happening?
What’s up with ya?
What it be?
What it is?
What is be like?
What’s up?

Homeys, the city is parchment
stained with your fingerprints,
voiceprints, heartprints

It is stained
with your blood, your
life, the mural in your veins
spilling poems on the parched
parchment that is the city

thirsty for your

your poem

your heart

in this city
that moves
to the dance

that is your

(c) 2015 Tony Robles


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