The Gilded Age is Every Age

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The taste of words fills my head
As I look out
Across buildings and penthouse apartments
Mirrored with glass.
And, beneath them, but out of reach,
As though there were an invisible line of separation,
The low brick buildings
Flat faced tenements
Black grime standing out against the almost stupidly bright
Early autumn sun.
In the areas of the penthouse buildings
And high dollar restaurants,
Cars speed along highways,
And super highways
Never stopping to take in the hypocritical beauty of their city.
Looking out the window
Of this school that has seen this city built,
I think,
“How does a poor girl like me
Paint the glamour of a rich man’s Baltimore
In words
When the houses of people closer to my class
Live in stark contrast, in their shadow?”
You got money, you drive to work
And keep on moving.
But in the projects across the street from my school, well,
Life is slower there.





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