West Slauson Ave

West Slauson Ave

He is driving a blue Datsun.
the blue you remember,
have you seen it once.

All shiny.
His pride.

The window open as he drives down Slauson.
Passes the pet clinic in the art deco building.

Food prepared in the open. Spicy and juicy.
Good smelling smoke drifts over the rails
lining Slauson here.

That’s his neighborhood.
He grew up here.
He will die here.

Life is raw in this part of town.
Hassling making ends meet.

Working short lift jobs.
Making minimum wages.

Rolling down Slauson,
passing by mechanics,
tire shops, and liquor stores.

Picking up his kids
at the multi-cultural center.

His Spanish Blue Datsun
stops short,
the kids are waiting.

Turning into Crenshaw Blvd.

At the corner of U.S. Bank
a homeless women sitting
on a bench with
advertising offering hope
through education.

Caring deeply about his
children, praying silently
they will advance in life.

Rushing home,
picking up dinner
on the way.

Life in this part of town
is normal,
in all its simplicity.

Dream, hopes, love,
cherished lives.



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