there is no peace….not for Buddha…nor baby’s momma…or momma’s baby…just the on-going drip of poverty’s riches….a New York benny card with $200 in food stamps…always swapped for some dough at the Arab joint on the corner….

the SSI check comes on the 1st for Buddha..strange voices lurk in the ears of those who listen….baby girl will be taught to hear those voices as well in her life….

voices saying…buy…buy…sell…sell…Wall Street is never far away…it’s as close as a billboard with a curvy black broad holding a bottle of Martel….or sharing a laugh with a lover while holding a Newport between caramel fingers with red long tips……

those nails were never anxiously bit over the loss of a job…a house…a car taken away in the middle of the night….with college loans to get you through trade school….cause baby girl’s pregnant and who done fucked her in the hood….

no time for cheerleading…or speeches at high school graduations….just roll baby…’cause this ain’t Woody Allen’s Manhattan…ain’t no Sex In The City neither….this is Hunts Point…..

and there are no copies of The Times at the bodegas….just The Post and El Diario read by weary eyed PR’s after a night of Sabado Gigante…..

and Buddha blazes….starting another day..Goodnight baby’s momma…goodbye baby girl…