Musings

Today I heard a gunshot in the alley under my window I am not wise to the makes and sizes of guns I am a poet an artist a mother Three shots to be precise not just me somebody else hadta heard it too We are up in arms when white cops kill black boys while we rape our women on the way to the rally Where are the waves fists behind this It is three in the afternoon A sunny day June These are the things that riot my headspace when I endeavor to write about Grandmothers Garvey Drums Rallies Relationships Relevance My poems are little now Perhaps someones life has ended No one has missed a beat At the liquor store Crazy Melvin is begging for change Rolanda the crackhead is selling pussy In unit B Demarco is smoking pcp The couple downstairs is making love I am listening because it is beautiful I imagine she lies face downward grips the headboard tightfisted While he is stroking inside of her long thick The cushion of her backside is Christmas Merlot Rent paid The fucking is good I am never short of stories on Buckingham Rd And elegant name for a street with such drama Even more ironic that it intersects King Yesterday someone pissed in the hallway The ice cream truck comes by after dark Pushing weed, swishers and Philly blunts Trent Allen was shot in the head for his 280z Zuri Williams shot Jerome Richardson shot Myra Carmichael eleventh grade Shot in the face by her boyfriend who said if he couldn't have her then no one would There were no rallies Last October brothas set off fireworks for two and a half hours starting at 1 in the am A boy jumped off a building because his classmates harrassed him for being gay And so what With all of us looking for love we should be celebrated for finding it at all I would like to blame this on the white man It is 11pm I am up writing While I am grilled stuft burrito 1 in 8 go to bed hungry in the U.S. alone who knows the numbers on who don't have a bed to go to at all I am in search of the who of who I am on the Saturday night in Los Angeles Where someone is being asked to dance Bishop Collins is preparing his message Maybe tomorrow he wil not just shout it from the pulpit but explain how one just gives it to Jesus And Good Times don't come on local networks no more Maybe Michael was too black too strong for TV Thelma to gorgeous to be nappy and brownskinned I surmise they killed off James because white America couldn't handle a black man sticking with his family through bad times I am writing The musings and prophecies just come Like Wednesday before last the children were out front playing Two boys and a girl on one side Three boys to the other A volley ball type game Except there was one boy in the middle In my day I am old enough to have a day We called it keep away Now, monkey in the middle This I will find a way to blame on the white man But life in the hood aint always bad On Fridays Hank the dealer buys books and balloons and toys for the children who don't have much The grandmamas and granddaddies are ma'am and sir The peace and sage sistas are Miss Ladies Lil Andre carries the groceries for Mama Jerome when her boy aint around But the splendor of moments like these and more is shadowed by my neighbor Claire getting the fuck beat out of her by her boyfriend I don't know his name But every kick follows a Stupid bitch this every slap a silly muthafucka that I am so sorry I cannot make her have a better life Where are the rallies for this It is Saturday night in the Jungle and I am just writing