45
bathroom lights wash out signs of age
on a dryer-wrinkled white tee, your
sticky fingers fumbling
with the fuzz on your head, she
always said you had papas hair,
and a sniff or two of some shit'll
make your head feel fuzzy,
'cause she's
crying again,
and you don't know how to deal with it.
February sun drenches the blood
on a war torn street, valentine avenue.
chalky lips affirming
your sobriety, right? you
french inhale the deceit and choke.
mama knew since the eighth grade, baggies
like some constellations,
stardust,
the smoke and coke
she warned you about, marriage torn up
about, papa wearing green
for trafficking white, ditched the carhartt.
his Jay lips mean grimacing.
5-0 caught a blow to the
chest, they still copped his ass. flashlights
lights flashing, flashing teeth, baring golds.
sentiment to that old
pride thing,
'cause slave songs ring
louder than any Marvin Gaye song could.
This poem is about:
My community