Freddie
As his voice gained its growl, he wished for a couch,
clambering for clout, because as a child,
Freddie ate reluctantly, cereal with powdered milk,
praying it into peppered eggs,
sizzling bacon, hotcakes with heated syrup,
stones of resentment lined his shoes and gave his walk an unsteady sway,
For the love of money
People can’t even walk the street
Because they never know who in the world they’re gonna beat
Gold grilled OG supreme,
pandered the respect that eludes, the respect he needs,
In lieu of loyalty to beating the block,
With a heart of hesitation, with eyes cast down,
the latest pair of Jordan’s gleamed on OG supreme,
he remembered his mom stumbling through the door,
asking who the food was for,
as she whispered, “it’s just enough for me”,
For the love of money
People can’t even walk the street
Because they never know who in the world they’re gonna beat
Clasping the leashes of his bookbag,
A glimmering gold chain glistening before him,
His manhood at stake, his father absent,
His inconsolable conscience riled,
He smiles, he daps his new leader,
He will eat tonight.
For the love of money
People can’t even walk the street
Because they never know who in the world they’re gonna beat
By Deaundra Jackson
Biography
Atlanta is the phoenix that lives in her. She is uncompromising about living a life that advocates for a greater quality of life for those who’ve been systemically abandoned. She worked for three years at the Georgia State Capitol determined to understand political underpinnings. Her hometown of Atlanta is number one in income inequality in America and she refuses to turn a blind eye to the disparities in social mobility. Writing was always her avocation, but while in The Politics of Black Poetry class, she was reassured that she wasn’t limited to becoming a public servant by running for office, she could illuminate the trauma of her community by cultivating her gift of writing.