Motor City Rap

Driving west down Jefferson East,
Already beyond the house of Edsel Ford,
The mansions of Grosse Pointe, Michigan–
Toward the antique wealth of Indian Village.
On this sultry Saturday night
Waves of mayflies jungle the streetlights
And drift like clouds among the trees.
Then Jefferson Avenue molts its affluence.
We enter the night of another city,
Burned out cars and abandoned buildings,
A black cop shaking down a black youth
In a liquor store parking lot. A crowd happens.
Heavy traffic stalls on mayfly wings.
Rap is blasting from every car.
When crack addicts look up to heaven
Stars seem scattered rocks of crack cocaine.
Upon the houses of Grosse Pointe
The mayflies amass, leaving their stain.

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