Genny on the Block

It’s getting to a point where I can’t even tell what’s gentrification anymore,

And it’s not because any of the “danger” walked out the door.

No, it just learned how to grin, how to soften its face,

it's learned How to dress threat up in an “inclusive”, “safe” space.

 

Genny just moved on the Block and already has lots of plans

She’s gonna open up a business, without asking anyone in the community if she can.

 

Genny strolls past ruin like its vintage décor,

Treating hunger like something to run away from

Not something you advocate for.

She poses for pictures where pain paints the street,

Smiling wide in front of brightly painted doors,

Where ghosts lean on every key.

 

She sings the songs of New Orleans

That come familiar to her, but with a borrowed beat.

Genny feels connected to the city’s history,

But ignores the screams of the people who lie beneath.

 

People whose ancestry is not much different from her own

Although she’s native to the land, her voice doesn’t reflect that in its tone.

 

She feels part of this neighborhood, just like anyone else.

A taxpaying citizen, here to capitalize her wealth.

And the fact that she’s Black, makes her no different,

The fact that she can code switch, makes her easier to fit in.

 

But still, she wishes that the corners would be scrubbed clean,

She wishes that the people around her could forget what they’ve seen.

 

And just like the others, she ignores the lack,

She ignores the complicated history that holds the city back.

So as apartment complexes bloom where schools once stood,

Genny celebrates in funding shifts from “could” to “should.”

 

She revels in new developments, and real estate picks,

New investments that’ll strengthen

Her houses’ performance on the market.

 

See, gentrifiers don’t just wear white pointed hoods these days,

Sometimes they wear curls, braids or weaves, and go to every parade.

Sometimes they go out and vote

To enact their civic duties

But have only one incentive for improvement-- self

Because these type of gentrifiers are the truest opportunists

 

They’ll step on a neighbor for a little advancement,

Preach stocks and investments to poor people while wearing a money lined pantsuit.

They’ll take the offers and backdoor deals, with a freshly greased palm,

And tuck that same hand into their pockets, with secret society cufflinks on their arm.

 

Somehow these type of people are rarely the public enemy,

Cause they sell products, courses and tips, promoting a pyramid scheme,

The theme?

“Get Rich Like Me”

 

And so, they perpetuate the cycle

Of poverty, self-sabotage and despair.

Except now they get to benefit from it,

By extorting little Keke, the girl upstairs, who does everybody's hair.

Robbing from their neighbor

Either discreet or right before their eyes,

Black gentrifiers are usually elitists

Who can often hide in plain sight.