“Newark”

I feel stagnant in your streets
            —inspiration never springing about hip beats.
And here in this town thousands die slow.
And life most could care less to know.

Will you ever have a voice worthy for the future to hear?
Listen. Come close. Newark, lend me your ear.
I do hope that that transgender thing made you feel prime,
because the nation will soon forget about that appalling, evil crime.

[hopefully the nation won’t ever forget]

What you need is this:
Words about you to be published: creations of stirring, memorable bliss.
Oh, don’t feel special—I promise nothing from me.
You need to find a well-built knight, a more true, nobler prodigy.

I’ve already promised my Love to the City by the bay.
Forever there my heart will always feel inspired, delicate and made.
But who knows what the great future for you should bring.
A literary soldier one day may come and sing and sing and sing.

Let the truth be told: I’m no great.
Newark, your voice will come—so sit, relax, and just wait, wait, wait.