Unlucky Leprechaun

This piece is a work in progress. Any ideas are much appreciated!

I met a leprechaun yesterday.

His eyes sparkled like diamonds in the rough,

He was in a rough place.

27 years on the same street corner but moreover

17 pennies in his petty pot of gold,

Still 7 colors in the rainbow.

“This sidewalk is cracking with all the weight on my shoulders”,

He said as I placed a $20 in his pot,

Hoping it would last him the week

“So tell me about it then.”  I said, bringing myself to my knees,

Through a smile the world was meant to see,

He laughed and said to me,

There are still 7 colors in the rainbow.

We still judge people by the color of their skin,

And not the quality of their insides,
And I am tired of it.

Yesterday I watched my brother die,

Under a murderous sky,

Because someone saw his dark eyes and shot 16 times,

But there are still 7 colors in the rainbow.

And we only see two at a time,

Black and white,

Red and blue,

Me and you,

We see things differently.

Our eyes have built monsters out of men,

Created lines between the fine print,

Died in the hard fight,

But still we are blind.

We walk like indoctrinated idiots down insidious streets,

Because the world is easier to see when you don’t believe,

That the rainbow speaks volumes,

Even on nights like these.

Our heads down and music up,

Pop pop pop goes the shots down the block,

But its blocked out by the earbuds blasting rock,

Because we cannot stand to hear our own thoughts

So we listen to someone else’s.

Child,

What I am trying to tell you,

Is that often times

Our purely human senses remain inhumane.

We use them just to divide the world around us into components we feel comfortable conquering,

Don’t let that be you.

Because when we divide,

We lose touch of what we are.

Humans.

10 fingers, 10 toes,

But still 7 colors in the rainbow,

Child,

Next time you come to me,

Tell me you don’t see it.

Red for the ambulances that race down Addison and Halsted because someone else is dead,

Blue for the uniforms of our unsafe streets,

Black and white for the newspaper headlines the next day.

But my one and only wish before I die on this pavement,

Is to see a day when our senses bring us together and not tear us apart.

When what we see is not what we feel,

And what we say is not what we hear.

But until then,

I am just an unlucky leprechaun,

Trying to make ends meet,

Maybe get myself off the streets

Go on then.

There’s so much more to see than someone as lost as me.

When his mouth closed,

And the story was over,

All I could manage was,

“I’m going to write a poem about you.”

So to the leprechaun on 21st and Division,

I hope you’re listening.

Author's Note

I may be performing this at a competition in 2019, so any and all advice is welcome! Thanks so much! --JM