Kennedy Fried Chicken

Let's workshop this poem that captures the intricate dance between survival and parenthood within an urban setting as it occurs in the life of a corner drug dealer

Kennedy Fried Chicken

The corner dealer,
his ex in her phone, 
assures himself
he is present 
with his kid, but

in that window
of lifting him high
and asking 
if he is being good
for mommy, his eye

sweeps for cops 
among nonstop 
horns—a client, 
hands in jean 
pockets, edging closer.

*This poem is unpublished

Photo Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/duncan/