Wolf of wall street types,

with slicked back hair,

stole the stained ceramic tiles

right out from underneath

my single mother's

sweet, aching feet.

She saved every penny

that she earned,

to buy this house–

her pride and joy–

only to be evicted

by sharks

disguised as sheep

who dragged her out

between their teeth.

Immediately painting over

offending graffiti

with signs that read,

'Starbucks: coming soon'

like the kiss of death,

with another five

within twenty feet,

where my b-boy crew and I

once breakdanced

to the Beastie Boys

and Run DMC.

Ma was relocated

forcefully to some

suburban scene,

that might as well

have been called Hell,

instead of Parish Street.

She stuck out like an alien,

an unwelcome stranger

in this neighbourhood,

where whiney women

wined and dined

on weekdays,

then attended church

on Sunday evenings.

Still, they locked

their cars from the inside

when mom had the audacity

to step foot outside her door.

This community of Stepford wives,

that looked down on my madre

from their horses high,

were more self-righteous

than born again convicts

intent on preaching to the choir.

Gentrify some other guy,

erect your crooked condos

in some other sky!

As you build profit,

and raze projects

that once unified

people who would

never have seen

eye to eye otherwise.

Different cultures came together,

mingling with one another,

leaving prejudice behind;

these meetings even

drastically reduced crime.

Until the men in black arrived

with their pockets lined,

drooling over future

bank account balances

that were stacked sky-high.

Single mothers, tossed aside,

fell so low on the social hierarchy

that they simply remained silent,

in spite of the tears in their eyes.

Another ghetto fairy tale

that would not end

with 'happily ever after'

but instead,

just with a single sigh.

.