On a lighter note, I would like to leave off
with this illustration.
This was a published poem in Pima Community College
literary SandScript.
"Strange weather.
For every bird chirping
There is a Brown boy crying for Coca-Cola, for milk.
If bright brown had to be one name,
I would call it monsoon
where and when a wet dog turns into mud.
A black shirt drowns in explosion,
Bleach is used to tie dye,
A grandfather is still in war,
Sun rays abort on beaches, a
Jet soars above,
One rock tumbles down a canyon side,
A grandma turns the faucet of a church sink,
A sheep is hung,
And a throat is slit,
Blood drips into Tupperware,
This is where strange weather is in my lungs."
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you.