We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks

We Real Cool 
by: Gwendolyn Brooks

               The Pool Players.
        Seven at the Golden Shovel.

            We real cool. We   
            Left school. We

            Lurk late. We
            Strike straight. We

            Sing sin. We   
            Thin gin. We

            Jazz June. We   
            Die soon.

The first time I encountered this poem was during a class I was taking on poetic forms--learning how to write better poetry.  I admit that I wasn't that impressed with it when I first read it, but it's what came after that that changed this poem for me.

This is a poem that isn't meant to simply be read.  It's meant to be heard--to flow on the air like a bit of music heard in the distance.  And as you go looking for that lonely player down the street, you find them somewhere and stand there just in awe until you either have to keep on about your day or the musician stops playing.  It's a piece that once you've heard it, it stays with you in a way few other poems do.

Rather than say more, though, I think you should just hear it in her own voice--her own thoughts in mind.