BRiTNNEY Ron
11TH GRADE
THE BRONX SPEAKS TO ME
Sorry I don’t think of you
enough, Britnney.
Forgive me for giving you a tough time.
And maybe I have not been the best,
Every time you are asked
where you’re from.
Yes, I hold everyone to low expectations,
All the people from here.
It’s not what I chose to do.
People come to me for support.
I lend my hand by granting lower rent,
Cheaper retail, and larger communities.
But most people give their
lives away to me,
Deferring all of their dreams and hopes,
Thinking I’m the best they can do.
And they stop here, they don’t get out.
They can’t hear me calling,
pushing them forward.
Once a hope is deferred, it fades away,
Into my darkness and smokefilled atmosphere.
Choosing to smoke over education,
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Drugs over identity and knowledge,
Money over self-determination.
ON THE 6
makes me wanna cry.
But I don’t want you to do the same.
Don’t fall into the temptation
you witness,
On every one of my corners
on your way to school.
Forget the 10-year-old
boy, that once said,
“You are no one in the world,
and you will never be.”
Forget how it happened on 156 Street,
Forget how he ran to you
in the P.S. 130 yard,
Forget the Spalding basketball
he was holding,
The Green Tea Arizona he was drinking.
Forget the smirk he gave you.
Seven more minutes, that’s
when it finally arrives.
If his shoes are red, everything else should be, too:
The train is so far, and it’s 7:25.
Pants, shirts, socks, and
sweater all red, not blue.
Because I know that you can hear me.
You hear the people that try to help you,
guide you, push you, make
you a better person,
and support the building of your future.
Because you are someone in this world,
You and all the people around
me are part of who I am,
And I will always be a part of
who you are and will become.
I can see it coming, so
slowly in the tracks.
Hopefully I’ll get a seat,
at least in the back.
Everyday