"You may yet become somebody."
Picture Ginsberg or Ferlenghetti
reading at City Lights.
You'll marry an heir,
sport an harem of guys.
In an opulent mansion
in Pacific Heights,
men will fan your face
feed you the greenest, sweetest grapes.
You'll be a white male Martha Wash
You'll wear embroidered velour capes --
not die unknown and unloved
a solitary, mud-encrusted glove
crumpled in the gutter.
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