This morning he awoke to sunshine
Glad for this warm spring day
He dressed accordingly
It may be...this afternoon...there is someone
Who would cry for him...if they knew
That like the bright spring sun
He had a chance to shine today
He looked like an every day person
Never a star of any show ...Until today
Today he was the show
The worst kind of street show
People came from all around
To watch him as he lay
Still and bloody
Near a curb on a busy city street
This morning he awoke to sunshine
This afternoon he outshines the sun
How would that have made him feel
Dark Spain
Spring 1987
I spent a weekend at my mother's house in spring of 1987. She lived on the corner of 168th street and Clay avenue in the Bronx, New York. I remember looking out of the window to check the temperature at about 11:00 in the morning. I saw a man dressed in white shorts, a top with a white background; white socks and sneakers. He was laying on the ground; there was a little blood on his side. there was yellow police tape cordoning off the area around him. He lay there till well after dark. I spent that day at the window and I wrote this poem.
