A note to my journal.

[untitled]
May 19, 2001

I take a walk under the fast lane
To get away from it all---
I pass a couple of "black" folks in hoods
As the Oakland police silence the streets...

I walk out of the grocery store with beer in hand
I see the gas prices are soaring
But my attention focused on someone
Sitting by the curb and cursing
He says, "@#%$! How can I be so
incompetent?! I should have known better!"
He was laid off from work, my first real subject
Of a capitalist boom-and-bust cycle
Of being not "cut" for the job
He blames himself for not being the man---
He has yet to go home to his kids, his wife
"What am I gonna tell 'em?" he says
As he fears the truth in their eyes...

So we speak of struggles
And we continue to "ramble on"
But there is nothing quite silencing
To see the deeper truth to
What we are saying
For the subject is in fact a human
And is robbed not of a job
But one's esteem, dignity, self, and pride
A life deserving, A life blessed

...And so now I pop the bottle
To drink to the pain of slow death
Indeed, my friend
It is a terrible, terrible world.