Tuesday, April 22, 2008
train-ed assassins & other even-year stories
3/26/2008--subway train
they know the rules of
engagement; schooled in
the war of words
hoping for
hand-to-hand
on this moving metal
car full of commuters
they've come from another car
voices raised; she, in-between
them and trying to prevent the
escalation of blood spilling and
bones cracking
but this is no place or time
for mediators; her calmness and
reason have no place here
the rules are clear:
get them before they get you
and no one of us: the commuters
know the problem
what happened in the other train car?
but here,
they get ready to let it out in an
urban remake of show-me-yours...
none of us intervene
instead, we move one
or two seats away as
if the potential blood
shed won't stain our
sheets red with
knowing...remembering
3/27/2006--home
the dream:
cleared out one drawer
removed hats/sweaters
from the top shelf in the closet
plus,
he didn't have much anyway
so it wasn't like i had to rearrange
my whole life...
/don't feel obligated to come here i said
this is a big step neither of us should
take lightly.../
but he was was on his way
up the stairs
opening the door with the keys
we'd made extras of the night before
3/28/2004--elevated train
can one wish list this kiss
to your liking the way you like
to write. can one list wish the
stitches away. can one be whole
can one be me who lists you as
the feeling one gets from feeling
fine where your kisses wish
wholeness for one another
can one be whole when at this
writing wishing kisses listening
intently. feeling fine is the other
wish
3/29/2002--subway train
...from conversations coasting by imagined
lights...if this train moves fast enough, we
will only see streams of light
appearing unbroken on how the spaces
between light one, two, three...cease to
exist...
effectually, the serenade of gum-popping
and sunflower seeds cracking, their shells
hitting the floor as small explosions
i wish that glances didn't turn people away
why wouldn't i be staring at you
considering you haven't stopped since i got
on several stops ago
there is no sanitorium on this route
he may imagine
there is a spot on the sun
where the questions rest on tips
of tongues; fringes of conversations,
absorbing silence
underneath all of this
there is another side
where spots become myth...legend...muse
they know the rules of
engagement; schooled in
the war of words
hoping for
hand-to-hand
on this moving metal
car full of commuters
they've come from another car
voices raised; she, in-between
them and trying to prevent the
escalation of blood spilling and
bones cracking
but this is no place or time
for mediators; her calmness and
reason have no place here
the rules are clear:
get them before they get you
and no one of us: the commuters
know the problem
what happened in the other train car?
but here,
they get ready to let it out in an
urban remake of show-me-yours...
none of us intervene
instead, we move one
or two seats away as
if the potential blood
shed won't stain our
sheets red with
knowing...remembering
3/27/2006--home
the dream:
/make room amongst your things/you'll never know i'm here he said/
i didn't have too much to move aroundcleared out one drawer
removed hats/sweaters
from the top shelf in the closet
plus,
he didn't have much anyway
so it wasn't like i had to rearrange
my whole life...
/don't feel obligated to come here i said
this is a big step neither of us should
take lightly.../
but he was was on his way
up the stairs
opening the door with the keys
we'd made extras of the night before
3/28/2004--elevated train
can one wish list this kiss
to your liking the way you like
to write. can one list wish the
stitches away. can one be whole
can one be me who lists you as
the feeling one gets from feeling
fine where your kisses wish
wholeness for one another
can one be whole when at this
writing wishing kisses listening
intently. feeling fine is the other
wish
3/29/2002--subway train
...from conversations coasting by imagined
lights...if this train moves fast enough, we
will only see streams of light
appearing unbroken on how the spaces
between light one, two, three...cease to
exist...
effectually, the serenade of gum-popping
and sunflower seeds cracking, their shells
hitting the floor as small explosions
i wish that glances didn't turn people away
why wouldn't i be staring at you
considering you haven't stopped since i got
on several stops ago
there is no sanitorium on this route
he may imagine
there is a spot on the sun
where the questions rest on tips
of tongues; fringes of conversations,
absorbing silence
underneath all of this
there is another side
where spots become myth...legend...muse
Sunday, April 20, 2008
just us talking--mingus & me
table 13
mingus:
does she know her husband is gay?
me:
now you know you shouldn't be asking that at a wedding?
mingus:
i ain't saying nothing that all of at this table don't know or haven't thought about since we got the invitations...
me:
still...
mingus:
whatever...
me:
let's just be happy for our friend.
mingus:
i am...i just hope she is.
me:
she does look beautiful though.
mingus:
yeah, she truly does.
me:
i agree...but do you think her husband is really gay?
mingus:
have you ever heard marvin gaye's here my dear album?
me:
yeah, why?
mingus:
...in the end, he's going to make an album for her and it's gonna fuck our whole understanding up...
me:
wow! but which song particularly?
mingus:
pick any of'em...particularly you can leave but it's gonna cost you...
me:
i'm not laughing at that one.
mingus:
maybe not on the outside, but inside, you're falling out...i hear it...believe me.
me:
um...okay...
mingus:
does she know her husband is gay?
me:
now you know you shouldn't be asking that at a wedding?
mingus:
i ain't saying nothing that all of at this table don't know or haven't thought about since we got the invitations...
me:
still...
mingus:
whatever...
me:
let's just be happy for our friend.
mingus:
i am...i just hope she is.
me:
she does look beautiful though.
mingus:
yeah, she truly does.
me:
i agree...but do you think her husband is really gay?
mingus:
have you ever heard marvin gaye's here my dear album?
me:
yeah, why?
mingus:
...in the end, he's going to make an album for her and it's gonna fuck our whole understanding up...
me:
wow! but which song particularly?
mingus:
pick any of'em...particularly you can leave but it's gonna cost you...
me:
i'm not laughing at that one.
mingus:
maybe not on the outside, but inside, you're falling out...i hear it...believe me.
me:
um...okay...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
...see, there it is...
where yo' black ass been?
she asked me. i chose to ignore her. i ride the elevator with her everyday. she sees me everyday. doesn't speak. neither do i.
did you hear me?
she asks. irritated. confused. totally not feeling my silence. i don't care.
well, i guess you're not up for conversation today...
she says. to no one in particular. to me. to the elevator.
actually, i've been around.
i answer. she looks happy. glad that someone finally speaks to her. glad that i have spoke to here. ecstatic because being the portrait hanging on the elevator wall. relieved that someone finally notices that the picture does talk.
the question is how and why are you hanging around on this elevator?
i ask her. people are getting on. she's quiet. i don't look at her while others are present. she doesn't look at me while others are present. we are at the sixth floor. everyone exits except me.
i'm here to bring a certain class to this small space. see, these flowers behind me, don't they make you think of the conservatory in april?
she asks me. i ponder the question. don't get it. get it. smile. it doesn't remind me of the conservatory in april at all.
i'm assuming you disagree...you're scowling.
she says. i almost forgot i was on the elevator. she doesn't speak to me. i realize that she talks. the picture talks.
you're funny...i make it a point not to talk to you, but when i finally decide to, you got nothing to say. oh, well...
she says. like that, she's looking away from me. not looking at me anymore. i hear her breathing. want to say so much more. want to say nothing at all. want to get off this elevator.
i take the sharpie from my backpack and decide to draw a mustache on her face. she has no arms. she's a bust in a photo with flowers behind her. she shouldn't have spoke to me in the first place. pictures don't talk. pictures don't talk in elevators.
at the first floor, i exit. step out of the elevator car. turn to look at her one last time. she isn't in the picture anymore. she's standing right there. in the elevator. one hand on her hip. the other raised giving me the finger. i'm speechless. i'm laughing inside. i'm glued to my spot just outside the only elevator in this building. i don't blink.
you're an asshole!
she says out loud. people walk around me. rush around me. nudge me slightly to get to the empty elevator. she moves over to let them on. finally full. the door closes. she steps through the closed doors. stands directly in front of me. smiles wide enough to scare the shit out of me. her mustache rises at the corners of her mouth.
yeah, i guess i am...but pictures don't come to life in elevators and talk shit and attempt to scare folks, do they?
i ask her. she thinks for a moment. then another moment. i wait. wait. decide she has nothing to say. so i turn to leave the spot i'd been stuck in. i walk to the exit. turn around and still see myself standing there. why? i have no idea. why i'm standing here and there? i have no idea.
you coming back soon?
she asks. forgetting what i'd just asked her. forgetting that there are now two of me: one in front of her and one at the exit.
sure...you want something while i'm out?
i ask her. biting my fingernails. wondering if the store up the street still has today's paper.
yeah, your soul. how about it?
she asks. looking directly at me. straight through me.
hell naw...are you out of your dead ass mind?
i answer. i walk through the door without pushing. i walk out into the hustle and bustle of the day. alive. i look back at the lady from the painting. standing outside my building. defeated.
this is why i hate elevators
i say to myself and she disappears and the other me disappears and it's only me there. looking back at nothing. looking into myself knowing that from this day on i'll take the stairs.
H.
1-15-2008
she asked me. i chose to ignore her. i ride the elevator with her everyday. she sees me everyday. doesn't speak. neither do i.
did you hear me?
she asks. irritated. confused. totally not feeling my silence. i don't care.
well, i guess you're not up for conversation today...
she says. to no one in particular. to me. to the elevator.
actually, i've been around.
i answer. she looks happy. glad that someone finally speaks to her. glad that i have spoke to here. ecstatic because being the portrait hanging on the elevator wall. relieved that someone finally notices that the picture does talk.
the question is how and why are you hanging around on this elevator?
i ask her. people are getting on. she's quiet. i don't look at her while others are present. she doesn't look at me while others are present. we are at the sixth floor. everyone exits except me.
i'm here to bring a certain class to this small space. see, these flowers behind me, don't they make you think of the conservatory in april?
she asks me. i ponder the question. don't get it. get it. smile. it doesn't remind me of the conservatory in april at all.
i'm assuming you disagree...you're scowling.
she says. i almost forgot i was on the elevator. she doesn't speak to me. i realize that she talks. the picture talks.
you're funny...i make it a point not to talk to you, but when i finally decide to, you got nothing to say. oh, well...
she says. like that, she's looking away from me. not looking at me anymore. i hear her breathing. want to say so much more. want to say nothing at all. want to get off this elevator.
i take the sharpie from my backpack and decide to draw a mustache on her face. she has no arms. she's a bust in a photo with flowers behind her. she shouldn't have spoke to me in the first place. pictures don't talk. pictures don't talk in elevators.
at the first floor, i exit. step out of the elevator car. turn to look at her one last time. she isn't in the picture anymore. she's standing right there. in the elevator. one hand on her hip. the other raised giving me the finger. i'm speechless. i'm laughing inside. i'm glued to my spot just outside the only elevator in this building. i don't blink.
you're an asshole!
she says out loud. people walk around me. rush around me. nudge me slightly to get to the empty elevator. she moves over to let them on. finally full. the door closes. she steps through the closed doors. stands directly in front of me. smiles wide enough to scare the shit out of me. her mustache rises at the corners of her mouth.
yeah, i guess i am...but pictures don't come to life in elevators and talk shit and attempt to scare folks, do they?
i ask her. she thinks for a moment. then another moment. i wait. wait. decide she has nothing to say. so i turn to leave the spot i'd been stuck in. i walk to the exit. turn around and still see myself standing there. why? i have no idea. why i'm standing here and there? i have no idea.
you coming back soon?
she asks. forgetting what i'd just asked her. forgetting that there are now two of me: one in front of her and one at the exit.
sure...you want something while i'm out?
i ask her. biting my fingernails. wondering if the store up the street still has today's paper.
yeah, your soul. how about it?
she asks. looking directly at me. straight through me.
hell naw...are you out of your dead ass mind?
i answer. i walk through the door without pushing. i walk out into the hustle and bustle of the day. alive. i look back at the lady from the painting. standing outside my building. defeated.
this is why i hate elevators
i say to myself and she disappears and the other me disappears and it's only me there. looking back at nothing. looking into myself knowing that from this day on i'll take the stairs.
H.
1-15-2008
Thursday, September 14, 2006
...i can see again...
...the next time you decide to wait
so long to call me or stop by, i'm
going to throw a brick right thru
your living room window, got that?
now give your mother a hug so i can
go home now...
--mica raye godbold (micarayesboy's mama)
the cliche is that i've been busy as hell
but the reality is that life has only allowed me
to do the things i really need to do...writing is one
mostly, the writings don't get written
only scribblings in this piece of mine
that i call my mind. somehow
i finished a book & invited all my best friends;
many didn't
make it, but there they were, in the
thank-you's...i stopped eating chicken
again now that my winter thickness
pushing my weight to 197 is coming,
something no one seems to notice either
(i think i'm swoll, but my friends disagree).
my guy says he's going to stand me
next to his sister & call us "11"...i got it
the second time he said it...
i have cried a few times, missing jabari,
LeRoy, marvin, lewis, auntie gladys,
& now jason parker...laughter ensued
afterwards as i remember how much
love they had for everyone & how much
they loved to laugh. i wasn't working but
now i am...& still looking for a job that'll pay
me some mind & not fill my outlook calendar
with mindless objectives & goals of the insane...
i have fallen in love again
& won't be telling him anytime soon
(trying to save something for me);
...but i sho' do luv'em...
i've had a summer like no other;
grandma got a new hip & answers
"i'm tolerable" when i ask her
how she's doing;
i met lalah hathaway & gave her the
1st bootleg copy of "conjurin': donny hathaway & cairo"
been to
orlando, florida
atlanta, georgia
& plum branch, south carolina
with my frat brothers...
even attended a nice amount of
open bars & gallery openings & spent
mass amounts of time with friends in
from here & there & still feel like they
never left
& shots later/drinks later/drunken good times later
at
cookies tavern
bar louie
south loop club
the negro league cafe
or mostly with my favorite sister shannon as we poke fun at our other siblings
i'm uncle to sixteen nieces/nephews
(who are mostly crazier than cat-piss)
& a grand-uncle to ten grand-nieces/nephews
one of my nephew says his children (1- & 2-months respectively;
by 2 different women...DAY-UMN) need shoes...
where the hell are the infants walking?
do they know the way to spring already?
...so now i can see again...
see:
the heroin addicts & whores who frequent the greystone next door
the liquor store stopped selling my kind of camels (only unfiltered, youngblood!)
my children are growing up
my rent might go up
my thoughts, this moment, are going up
&
i am still growing up...loving the shit out of all it's showing me, too...
H.
9-14-2006
so long to call me or stop by, i'm
going to throw a brick right thru
your living room window, got that?
now give your mother a hug so i can
go home now...
--mica raye godbold (micarayesboy's mama)
the cliche is that i've been busy as hell
but the reality is that life has only allowed me
to do the things i really need to do...writing is one
mostly, the writings don't get written
only scribblings in this piece of mine
that i call my mind. somehow
i finished a book & invited all my best friends;
many didn't
make it, but there they were, in the
thank-you's...i stopped eating chicken
again now that my winter thickness
pushing my weight to 197 is coming,
something no one seems to notice either
(i think i'm swoll, but my friends disagree).
my guy says he's going to stand me
next to his sister & call us "11"...i got it
the second time he said it...
i have cried a few times, missing jabari,
LeRoy, marvin, lewis, auntie gladys,
& now jason parker...laughter ensued
afterwards as i remember how much
love they had for everyone & how much
they loved to laugh. i wasn't working but
now i am...& still looking for a job that'll pay
me some mind & not fill my outlook calendar
with mindless objectives & goals of the insane...
i have fallen in love again
& won't be telling him anytime soon
(trying to save something for me);
...but i sho' do luv'em...
i've had a summer like no other;
grandma got a new hip & answers
"i'm tolerable" when i ask her
how she's doing;
i met lalah hathaway & gave her the
1st bootleg copy of "conjurin': donny hathaway & cairo"
been to
orlando, florida
atlanta, georgia
& plum branch, south carolina
with my frat brothers...
even attended a nice amount of
open bars & gallery openings & spent
mass amounts of time with friends in
from here & there & still feel like they
never left
& shots later/drinks later/drunken good times later
at
cookies tavern
bar louie
south loop club
the negro league cafe
or mostly with my favorite sister shannon as we poke fun at our other siblings
i'm uncle to sixteen nieces/nephews
(who are mostly crazier than cat-piss)
& a grand-uncle to ten grand-nieces/nephews
one of my nephew says his children (1- & 2-months respectively;
by 2 different women...DAY-UMN) need shoes...
where the hell are the infants walking?
do they know the way to spring already?
...so now i can see again...
see:
the heroin addicts & whores who frequent the greystone next door
the liquor store stopped selling my kind of camels (only unfiltered, youngblood!)
my children are growing up
my rent might go up
my thoughts, this moment, are going up
&
i am still growing up...loving the shit out of all it's showing me, too...
H.
9-14-2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
the equalizer
for jabari r. rhodes-williams
1976-2006
my firstborn of baby blue & gold
has gone now, but the song is still
out there
you, me & carmen mcrae wailing
the final groaning-moan before the
the last piano key stroke
just a week to the day before the
lowering, i got the call when just
three days
before that, we were running
down dearborn
you: had azure in the headlock
promising to smack his face for
every puff i took of the camel light
he broke away & you chased us both
vowing in your black & white film
voice
give me the respect that i deserve!
just like you...
that was & is & five months
after you helped me to get through losing
the love of my life,
i have now lost the part
of you:
that answers your work phone
whose shoes go "tap-tap-tap-tap-tap"
up & down my hallway to music only
you hear
who would sing & dance with me in
checkout lines from borders to target
...wouldn't u like 2 fly...
we belted out while others behind us
wondered just how old we were as
the 5th dimension came roaring out
our mouths...
the equalizer, i named you
cuz after all the years prior
to us becoming bros,
you always had the power to
make everything with everyone
alright
alright...i will be
me: u know, i would love to see madame x have a reunion
him: they already did...didn't you hear they were at the house of blues.
me: get outta here!
him: for real...they opened for shirley bassey...
me: see, that's why i can't listen to you...how you gon' say that?
him: shirley bassey? god bless her!
i'm going to watch jackie's back a million times
& remember how funny it is to hear the uptown
divas given a roll call...which includes shirley bassey!
god bless her!?!
& bea arthur [insert laugh here]...
have you ever had a friend whom
no matter how soon you see them come
or go, you always know you are loved,
liked, thought about, cared for, listened to,
remembered
at all times?
you were the harmony when donny & roberta crooned:
you know the sun has surely made
it's final dawning...
& ruth, june, anita & bonnie wailed:
don't u know i get down on my knees...won'tchu pass the sugar please!
i cried, have cried and will probably cry again,
but not out of sadness...it's always going
to be you & me...
loving, tender
sweet as i remember
feeling fire in your heart
said we'd last forever
won-
der-
ful together...
in your heart....
there is no other
no loving sweeter
honey our love's growing deeper
& dee-
per
high as the rainbow
there's only u & me
& the way we feel
just us
just us
just us...just us
"just us"
sang by martha wash & izora armstead
1976-2006
my firstborn of baby blue & gold
has gone now, but the song is still
out there
you, me & carmen mcrae wailing
the final groaning-moan before the
the last piano key stroke
just a week to the day before the
lowering, i got the call when just
three days
before that, we were running
down dearborn
you: had azure in the headlock
promising to smack his face for
every puff i took of the camel light
he broke away & you chased us both
vowing in your black & white film
voice
give me the respect that i deserve!
just like you...
that was & is & five months
after you helped me to get through losing
the love of my life,
i have now lost the part
of you:
that answers your work phone
whose shoes go "tap-tap-tap-tap-tap"
up & down my hallway to music only
you hear
who would sing & dance with me in
checkout lines from borders to target
...wouldn't u like 2 fly...
we belted out while others behind us
wondered just how old we were as
the 5th dimension came roaring out
our mouths...
the equalizer, i named you
cuz after all the years prior
to us becoming bros,
you always had the power to
make everything with everyone
alright
alright...i will be
me: u know, i would love to see madame x have a reunion
him: they already did...didn't you hear they were at the house of blues.
me: get outta here!
him: for real...they opened for shirley bassey...
me: see, that's why i can't listen to you...how you gon' say that?
him: shirley bassey? god bless her!
i'm going to watch jackie's back a million times
& remember how funny it is to hear the uptown
divas given a roll call...which includes shirley bassey!
god bless her!?!
& bea arthur [insert laugh here]...
have you ever had a friend whom
no matter how soon you see them come
or go, you always know you are loved,
liked, thought about, cared for, listened to,
remembered
at all times?
you were the harmony when donny & roberta crooned:
you know the sun has surely made
it's final dawning...
& ruth, june, anita & bonnie wailed:
don't u know i get down on my knees...won'tchu pass the sugar please!
i cried, have cried and will probably cry again,
but not out of sadness...it's always going
to be you & me...
loving, tender
sweet as i remember
feeling fire in your heart
said we'd last forever
won-
der-
ful together...
in your heart....
there is no other
no loving sweeter
honey our love's growing deeper
& dee-
per
high as the rainbow
there's only u & me
& the way we feel
just us
just us
just us...just us
"just us"
sang by martha wash & izora armstead
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
takeout: 43rd & indiana avenue
"can a memory make a kiss out of an illusion
is love confusion that we must all go through
is that true..."
--"was that you"
adam guettel/lindy robbins, 1992
i think i'm overcoming my fear of dogs, as my friend's dog gizmo doesn't make me want to run away screaming
like i want to run when i see the teenagers waiting inside the j&j fish restaurant; girls wearing jackets that barely cover their asses, rising to reveal bare midriffs & skin as they sit on the laps of these young men with their phones charging from the wall outlet where the atm machine is plugged
no one is legal, save for one guy who might've graduated from high school when i did 15 years ago.
everyone else was probably no older than 17...
patiently, orders 69, 70 & 71 were called
my friend is 76
patiently, we waited while the teenagers hyped one of the young ladies up to dance while he taped her with his video-phone contraption & she moved this & that way, cussing at no one in particular. her girlfriend too busy on the lap of another gentleman who had returned from selling a sack to number 70 in the parking lot
72, 73 & 74 came up next
my friend is 76
& we move closer to the bullet-proof glass where the revolving door that turns your food over to you is so that we can just get our food & go. it is five minutes to eight & we both wonder if any of their parents have had any idea of where they've probably been for the past five hours--the infamous 3pm-8pm mark where researchers have found that most 12-17 year olds do most of their "dirt"
75 finally comes out & for the past six minutes that we have waited on a catfish dinner for my friend & nothing for myself, the young ladies have sat on the laps of many of the older boys as well as one being called out & claimed when a more quiet young lady came in & unknowing caught the attention of one of them.
watching all this, 76 is called & before i know it, my friend has signaled me to roll out with her & without looking back, she is at the door before i am. i try to keep my eyes on the door, but i caught the eye with the woman who sat just to the right of the exit. she: maybe a few years older than myself, watching, too.
it was report card day today
i heard them talk about how much fun they had fighting, smoking weed & fucking
while merely hanging out in the restaurant that serves food behind bulletproof glass; where unless you don't want lemon pepper seasoning on your food, you'd better tell them not to...this place that i sneak off to for my bi-monthly guilty pleasure of fried mushrooms, fried okra & cheese sticks.
not one of them had anything to say about grades...
at three minutes past 8pm, they were still there when my friend & i left.
them: waiting outside to sell their last sacks
her: not minding the grown-ass man inconspicuously touching the space between her two-back pockets while she sits on his lap
her: doing the same as her friend
him: campainging for customers to buy his wares
her: leaning on the shoulder of the guy with the camera
him: videotaping the whole event saying, "everything y'all just did, i got on camera...what'chu thought?"
is love confusion that we must all go through
is that true..."
--"was that you"
adam guettel/lindy robbins, 1992
i think i'm overcoming my fear of dogs, as my friend's dog gizmo doesn't make me want to run away screaming
like i want to run when i see the teenagers waiting inside the j&j fish restaurant; girls wearing jackets that barely cover their asses, rising to reveal bare midriffs & skin as they sit on the laps of these young men with their phones charging from the wall outlet where the atm machine is plugged
no one is legal, save for one guy who might've graduated from high school when i did 15 years ago.
everyone else was probably no older than 17...
patiently, orders 69, 70 & 71 were called
my friend is 76
patiently, we waited while the teenagers hyped one of the young ladies up to dance while he taped her with his video-phone contraption & she moved this & that way, cussing at no one in particular. her girlfriend too busy on the lap of another gentleman who had returned from selling a sack to number 70 in the parking lot
72, 73 & 74 came up next
my friend is 76
& we move closer to the bullet-proof glass where the revolving door that turns your food over to you is so that we can just get our food & go. it is five minutes to eight & we both wonder if any of their parents have had any idea of where they've probably been for the past five hours--the infamous 3pm-8pm mark where researchers have found that most 12-17 year olds do most of their "dirt"
75 finally comes out & for the past six minutes that we have waited on a catfish dinner for my friend & nothing for myself, the young ladies have sat on the laps of many of the older boys as well as one being called out & claimed when a more quiet young lady came in & unknowing caught the attention of one of them.
watching all this, 76 is called & before i know it, my friend has signaled me to roll out with her & without looking back, she is at the door before i am. i try to keep my eyes on the door, but i caught the eye with the woman who sat just to the right of the exit. she: maybe a few years older than myself, watching, too.
it was report card day today
i heard them talk about how much fun they had fighting, smoking weed & fucking
while merely hanging out in the restaurant that serves food behind bulletproof glass; where unless you don't want lemon pepper seasoning on your food, you'd better tell them not to...this place that i sneak off to for my bi-monthly guilty pleasure of fried mushrooms, fried okra & cheese sticks.
not one of them had anything to say about grades...
at three minutes past 8pm, they were still there when my friend & i left.
them: waiting outside to sell their last sacks
her: not minding the grown-ass man inconspicuously touching the space between her two-back pockets while she sits on his lap
her: doing the same as her friend
him: campainging for customers to buy his wares
her: leaning on the shoulder of the guy with the camera
him: videotaping the whole event saying, "everything y'all just did, i got on camera...what'chu thought?"
Saturday, January 21, 2006
bronzeville 2006 a.d.
the police don't allow just any neighborhood folks
to stand in front of the liquor store now
all them older guys who fought in wars
& walked to different states to live with relatives
& most of them that have lived over here all these years
they can't stand to lose those few minutes of signifying
before traipsing back to subsidy-heated flats
on gentryifying blocks & watching the court shows
noon hours reserved for sitting back & not answering
calls with 800-number prefixes on the caller id
"all due respect, officer, but you know who the dopefiends are; arrest the young punks pushin' that sucker-ass shit & they'll go away,"
i heard one say
& they did,
but that was before they found the dead prostitute
just at the end of my block. turn the corner & you run
right into the liquor store; can't miss the spot
where men respond to calls of pop, uncle, ol' man, young man
as they have for over two generations, drinking from styrofoam
cups of laced black coffee while recounting tales between the hours
of 3-5pm under the train tracks
three years running & each of them never fails
to speak to everyone within earshot
& sometimes from almost a block away
as mr. powell would do me a few times
three years running & my eyes have seen
them each morning as the days end & the
evenings begin
drinks of coffee & brown paper bags
weave reminiscences of days laboring
in slaughterhouses & steel plants
driving buses & garbage trucks
have left under the train tracks
& become hushed whispers
as condominiums sprout up
on vacant lots & the neighborhood
daycare centers close
but the liquor store stays open
until 8pm during the week
& the police only bother the boys
barely men who know to move
& coffee cups & paperbags
laugh aloud at what they know
been knowing all these years
because they never left home
even underneath the train tracks
H.
1-22-2006
to stand in front of the liquor store now
all them older guys who fought in wars
& walked to different states to live with relatives
& most of them that have lived over here all these years
they can't stand to lose those few minutes of signifying
before traipsing back to subsidy-heated flats
on gentryifying blocks & watching the court shows
noon hours reserved for sitting back & not answering
calls with 800-number prefixes on the caller id
"all due respect, officer, but you know who the dopefiends are; arrest the young punks pushin' that sucker-ass shit & they'll go away,"
i heard one say
& they did,
but that was before they found the dead prostitute
just at the end of my block. turn the corner & you run
right into the liquor store; can't miss the spot
where men respond to calls of pop, uncle, ol' man, young man
as they have for over two generations, drinking from styrofoam
cups of laced black coffee while recounting tales between the hours
of 3-5pm under the train tracks
three years running & each of them never fails
to speak to everyone within earshot
& sometimes from almost a block away
as mr. powell would do me a few times
three years running & my eyes have seen
them each morning as the days end & the
evenings begin
drinks of coffee & brown paper bags
weave reminiscences of days laboring
in slaughterhouses & steel plants
driving buses & garbage trucks
have left under the train tracks
& become hushed whispers
as condominiums sprout up
on vacant lots & the neighborhood
daycare centers close
but the liquor store stays open
until 8pm during the week
& the police only bother the boys
barely men who know to move
& coffee cups & paperbags
laugh aloud at what they know
been knowing all these years
because they never left home
even underneath the train tracks
H.
1-22-2006
