Unheardwords of Writers of Colour

Redeye -  Miss M Calame-Bruce

Shared: REDEYE

Straight up Hustler.
Trousers drop off ’im backside,
As though life is heading south.
Belt just about wrapped around his wasted life,
Attitude like a bullet, ready to hurt.
Words sharp like a blade to the throat.

Gold chain hangs around his neck,
Like a rope,
A symbol of anger,
A territorial mark.
Red eye bwoy,
dead man walk.
A pocket full of money
and a bag of dope.

Living a life along the white line,
for diamond, for gold.
Dust for dust,
In exchange for his soul.
Haf fi get what ‘im want fi get,
before the sunsets.

Rising son,
Replace your gun
With a comb
That will pick out di
Knots from yu head.
Fix up,
Before yu trousers drop.

Bwoy!
How yu lean so?
Yu face look vex,
How yu mean so?
All di madness inna yu head
An’ a dream so?
Nuttun go so.
Fa yu mudda neva bring yu up to be so.

© Miss M Calame-Bruce, March 2006 (all rights reserved)