dope-is-my-hustle:

Orange in his Hand
I see two men sweatat the exitof the freeway.
One is brown and burntfrom the sun raysthe other is whitewith an American Flagstitched across his trucker hat.
They both wear dirty clothes.They both burn to holda little green.
One sells oranges, walking upand down the street. One holds a sign that reads,“I’m hungry, help me eat.”I feel for both of them,but I only admire one.
The one who handsoranges in bags to tired faces,who chases carsfor his change,who counts penniesas profitto keep his apartment.
The one whose wife wakesbefore sunrise to walkthrough Los Angeles streetsyelling “tamales, tamales”with a 4 year old daughter at her side.
The mother who crossed over4 years earlier so her daughterwouldn’t have to sell tamaleswith a baby at her side.
The father tells his sonnever to beg,but to work hard for the bread.So the son sells Cheetosat his high schooland gets called beanerfor not owning named brand clothes.A son who must bring dollarsbefore good gradesbecause rent is two weeks late.A son who will one day hold a gun to the headof a liquor store clerk,only to remember his father’s words.
Mijo, work hard for the bread.
Rent is two weeks late so the familybreaks tax laws to make jobsand they lifts roses to the skyhoping someone passing byis falling in love again,so the familytakes elotesto the neighborhood projectshoping the ninos are hungry.
The news says this family is hereto take my job, my seat in school, my country,but the only thing they’re taking is the riskof being handcuffed,broken and deportedin the name of familyin the name of lovein the name of trying everything to stay abovethe currentand that is whyI can’t help
But to admire the manwith an orange in his hand,a fireball of hunger in his palm.
I love my people. We are hard workers and we never beg for money. How often do you see a Latino beggar? Exactly, it’s rare. Why? Because we work for our money. If it means selling flowers, corn, fruit, ice cream, whatever it is, we WORK for it. We don’t ask for anything for free. All we want is a better future for our families and we are willing to work for it! So how are you going to say we don’t belong in this country of opportunity when we actually take advantage of that opportunity and WORK for a better life instead of fuckin standing at a corner of a McDonald’s waiting for someone to drop a coin or two into a fuckin cup?

dope-is-my-hustle:

Orange in his Hand

I see two men sweat
at the exit
of the freeway.

One is brown and burnt
from the sun rays
the other is white
with an American Flag
stitched across his trucker hat.

They both wear dirty clothes.
They both burn 
to hold
a little green.

One sells oranges, walking up
and down the street. 
One holds a sign that reads,
“I’m hungry, help me eat.”
I feel for both of them,
but I only admire one.

The one who hands
oranges in bags to tired faces,
who chases cars
for his change,
who counts pennies
as profit
to keep his apartment.

The one whose wife wakes
before sunrise to walk
through Los Angeles streets
yelling “tamales, tamales”
with a 4 year old daughter 
at her side.

The mother who crossed over
4 years earlier so her daughter
wouldn’t have to sell tamales
with a baby at her side.

The father tells his son
never to beg,
but to work hard for the bread.
So the son sells Cheetos
at his high school
and gets called beaner
for not owning 
named brand clothes.
A son who must bring dollars
before good grades
because rent is two weeks late.
A son who will one day hold 
a gun to the head
of a liquor store clerk,
only to remember 
his father’s words.

Mijo, work hard for the bread.

Rent is two weeks late 
so the family
breaks tax laws to make jobs
and they lifts roses to the sky
hoping someone passing by
is falling in love again,
so the family
takes elotes
to the neighborhood projects
hoping the ninos are hungry.

The news says this family is here
to take my job, 
my seat in school, 
my country,
but the only thing they’re taking 
is the risk
of being handcuffed,
broken and deported
in the name of family
in the name of love
in the name of trying 
everything to stay above
the current
and that is why
I can’t help

But to admire the man
with an orange in his hand,
a fireball of hunger in his palm.

I love my people. We are hard workers and we never beg for money. How often do you see a Latino beggar? Exactly, it’s rare. Why? Because we work for our money. If it means selling flowers, corn, fruit, ice cream, whatever it is, we WORK for it. We don’t ask for anything for free. All we want is a better future for our families and we are willing to work for it! So how are you going to say we don’t belong in this country of opportunity when we actually take advantage of that opportunity and WORK for a better life instead of fuckin standing at a corner of a McDonald’s waiting for someone to drop a coin or two into a fuckin cup?