I am from a back alley house that’s as narrow as a garage, yet towers street lights, where

those who walked the streets lighted by flickering street lights did no good, I am from

the city where silence is bombarded with yells, drumming stereos, and persistent construction.

I am from the cracked, abandoned, uncared for streets, where

my brother and I listened to our parents tell us the horrors of the streets, I am from

the city where carrying importances, makes folks who strive for safety avoid certain streets.

I am from parents with filth on their hands, drenched in sweat, styled in worn out clothes, where

they work their hardest bringing my brother and I up, to keep us off the streets, I am from

the city where money only got those who had it abrupt looks of disgust.

I am from a neighborhood where no one looks twice, where

the old lady, frail and pale, watched from her porch while rocking the wooden chair, I am from

the city where being hushed and modest can change who you are and where you go in life.

I am from a back alley house in the ghetto, where

murders occur, where thefts emerge, I am from

the parts of Milwaukee where people’s business is their business and others stay out of it.