Ceci n’est pas une poem.

[hillsideheather]

 
Three houses down and
On the left, a broken
Victorian home,
Barely standing, in the
Dark

Children lurking,
Moving, cursing
Hurt and angry,
Casting stones
Stoning cars

And the people in them.

We fear Evanston,
And an unknown
(rumored)
History

We cannot understand.

Shots fired in the daylight
Like a modern day Verona
Where Paris is always dying

Sirens wailing
This is Cincinnati.