Kane slumface harlem
His slippery short black hair pin like
Invited himself in and accused us
of every wretched thing a kid might do
The hurt in his voice so heavy
So dark so pestilent
his body always inching forward
His fidgety legs adjusting his direction
He had championed the art of jeering
Of aiming insult to injury
Of squarely discouraging a boy to his lowest form
His demonic nature was impressive
yet you looked at his face
and thought slum
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