206

I remember them like it was yesterday

sidewinding snakes of gray asphalt

a wayward assault course through the row houses of despair

a maze of bricks and hate

their dirty windows corrupting the outside view

ten to a row

then a tunnel

unit 206

five away from where they stabbed John Doe

just before the morning light

tore a brutal hole into the night

the sunshine drying

the remains of an ending

my size four shoe feeling sticky

from walking through a blood red trail

*A video of what this poem is about.*

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Author: valo

I am a poet, writer and activist with a special interest in human rights for children and women as well as the elimination of poverty worldwide. If you read this today, feed someone locally for me will you? Drop off a non perishable food item at the food bank nearest you and consider yourself hugged. Thank you!

10 thoughts on “206”

    1. Yep, it was a classsay place old Bay Mills. Thanks Gabe and it’s not important to have sound because as you say you get the picture. That story about the John Doe is true, it happened and I was wearing flip flops. That tunnel was the setting for so much activity let me tell ya.

  1. Couldn’t find any info on Bay Mills. Am very curious after reading this poem.

    “unit 206

    five away from where they stabbed John Doe

    just before the morning light

    tore a brutal hole into the night”

    Fantastic!!!

    1. You caught me in the middle of writing this lol Thank you Scribbla. Bay Mills was a housing project I lived in as a kid in Toronto Canada. It wasn’t a good place to live and we all know the stories about ghetto life etc and even back then, in the 1970’s it was a hell hole. We moved in when I was eight and I finally left for good in my teens. It’s been on my mind a lot lately because at some point soon I’m going to get going on a volume of poetry about it. Some very bad shit went down in there and it never leaves anyone who has lived in one of those places. If you look up Tha Milz on Wikipedia you will find information about the gang (crips) who own it now. When I lived there it was less organized gang stuff and more drug dealers doing it solo stuff. I’m not sure which is worse. They are probably both equally depraved. The desolation is the same though and I realize everyday that I am very lucky to have escaped that life. The experiences, what you see and feel cling to you forever like dirt you cannot wash off. It changes you. 😦

      1. Thanks for the video (it offers a great insight to the poem) and your backstory. I think your idea to put together a volume of poetry about your expriences and impressions is a fantastic one. If you ever managed to get a photographer to take some pics and then made a book from the poems and pics, I’d buy it!

      2. I’m seriously thinking that this will be perhaps the most important thing I will ever write. It is the root of my rotten tree so to speak and clearing through the bullshit to tell the truth and not some Hollywood/Pdiddy story. When I do it, you will be one of the first to know and I’ll send you a free copy simply because you are a talented and generous artist who shares his work online as well as being supportive. 🙂

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