Poemas Urbanos-Urban Poetry

Train tracks cut through like old battle scars,
Rust on the rails, rust under the stars.
Boarded-up dreams with “For Sale” signs,
Liquor store lights flicker like faded lines.

A dollar store stands where hope should grow,
Kids shoot hoops where the weeds now show.
Church bells echo through empty pews,
Preacher still preaching the same old news.

Papa’s gone — off chasing work,
Mama holds it down through the hurt and the murk.
Factory shut, no smoke in the sky,
Now the young ones ask more «how» than «why.»

Scrap metal yards and faded brick,
Paint peeled back like a cruel old trick.
Still, laughter rings from porches at night,
Even in darkness, we find some light.

Junkyard dogs and pickup trucks,
Every house got a story, most down on luck.
But look in our eyes — you’ll still see fire,
A quiet grind, a raw desire.

Ain’t no riches in this part of the map,
But we got soul in every trap.
We bleed, we build, we break, we mend,
Louisiana blues — where roots don’t bend.