We stopped at the corner of,
Tangerine street and Steveson drive.
We stood there, locked in the
Shackles of death, waiting for the
Next light of hope.

We shuffled across sidewalks
Filled with cigarette butts.
Neighborhood children riding broken bikes
To the orange grove, they knew there
Were no oranges left to be picked.
No fruit of Eden.

We watched them from the corner of,
Tangerine street and Steveson drive.
Our bodies colder than mamas icebox.
The gangs that run the circle pass Mr.Odie’s
Stopped by our corner, they offered us some candy.
We held our hands out for communion,
We chewed on the tainted candy of Eden.

The streetlights went off, we looked at one another,
Wondering if we were slaves of the system.
We bowed our heads in prayer that the ghetto
does not take one of us tonight.


We stopped at the corner of,
Tangerine street and Steveson drive.
We went our separate ways down the
Wicked streets of the hood.
Checking the shadow of death, following
Each one of us to the grave.