God Say The Same (working)

I live in a city
where speaking of murder
every morning
is as common as asking the waitress
for another cup of coffee.

It makes me angry,
New Orleans,
makes me dream angry dreams.

Boy was six years old
with a pellet gun in his waistband
putty knife in his hand,
his accomplice three years old
stealing cigarettes and candy.
What have your baby brown eyes seen?

Murder, murder, murder
She's a pregnant woman
collecting gifts
for a child without a father
wondering how much longer

It makes me angry
to see the pain in the cracks of the street
to hear the sirens sigh of defeat
always too late
always someone's son down
Bloody mothers cradling the dead

It is too common
too comfortable in our pain

I have been to your cemetery
I wanted to hold you like you held him
as your baby died in your arms.
New Orleans,
you make me angry.

My child has
no
home.