I let you go to Philadelphia I let you go thirteen goin' on “life” to your momma-- (God rest her-- and keep you --from wherever she is) to your father in Philly outa the picture
Sheepish in the doorway of my classroom back again one last time--
Say good-bye, kid, to your short stay in Scranton a town that can't rhyme whose name falls over its own misery No use for outsiders
“Where's your book? Found your binder in the rain Soggy protest to school's demands? Of course it's yours I checked, ya know”
"No way!"
Desk's been empty, three weeks now Still, gotta ask “Whacha doin? Where ya been?”
“Khmir, I'm sorry for your loss....” Thirty seconds shares our grief Thirty seconds for your future's-- all I got
“Listen to your teachers! Do your work! Please-- be okay?”
Khmir in your wooly black coat-- like a bear like a dare shruggin and dancin in the doorway of the “show”
Homework? Aint happenin' But one paper, though on why-- YOU-- should be president
and I almost vote for you
"Life" refers to a long prison sentence.
This poem is meant to be an indictment of the American "prisons for profit" system that disproportionately targets African-American males.