Political Smoke Screen

Poem By Sandra Feldman

Free from indignities.
Inequality and social injustice.
This is some good weed.

"I told you, my brutha.
Crack had me carrying,
Too much of that crap on my back.
Had me walking into telephone poles.
Years ago.
Folks I use to know.
And grew up with,
Still to this day...
Trying to get as high as possible,
Yet found to have overdosed.
On airplane glue."


I went to visit an old friend.
Laid up can't do nothing but sit.
In a convalescent home.
And I couldn't believe,
That 'cat' asked me if I was still packing."

You mean like a weapon?

Just pass the weed.
You ain't found that kind of liberty yet.
And besides,
This good weed will make you forget...
Wanting to be that liberated."

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