a balsamin` blunt
lay`d diagonal in an empty ICE BREAKERS mint carton
catchin` ashes.
he holds the "roach" with his fingernails...
takes a long drag...releases slowly,
while his eyes fix themselves on a wall of thoughts
below his eyelids.
i watch the weight of unemployment fracture, but never break him.
watch his father emasculate him...make it hard for him to call himself a man,
my cousin finds strength regardless, to be acknowledged as such.
locks his tears in the slit of his eyes.
locks them in a smile; a lie stretch`d across his face,
most of the time.
don`t blame him for feelin` lonely & anger`d...i tell him,
"my brother & i are your family, now"
he smiles...watches the "roach" eventually burn itself out,
then takes a swig of his MYSTIC fruit punch.
we change the subject.
laugh as we quote our parents
contradictin` themselves
laugh while he reaches for box cutters
...slices the "GOLD&MILD"...& hollows its shell
to roll another blunt.
we go for a ride...still smokin` the blunt
he roll`d before we left...take in the scenary from our windows.
funny what heat`ll do.
make sistas flowers, who bloom in the Spring
& shed their petals to humidity.
our smiles are big
while we look at stretch jeans, clingin` to the perspiration
of their skin.
look at hips hangin`...swingin`
like a bag full of groceries, walkn` down the block.
we watch those sistas fade from rear & side -view mirrors.
watch the earth spin slow...draggin` today over her shoulders
like laundry bags goin` to the laundromat...washin' today into the past.
we head for his home through one of many corridors
inside Suitland`s lewis ave ghetto...talk some more...tells me
when he ain`t smokin` weed, he finds tranquility in a pen and pad...
says i inspired him to write...i thank him for the compliment...
hands embrace before we do...
i tell him i love him...we say "peace".
that`s when i wrote this poem.
lay`d diagonal in an empty ICE BREAKERS mint carton
catchin` ashes.
he holds the "roach" with his fingernails...
takes a long drag...releases slowly,
while his eyes fix themselves on a wall of thoughts
below his eyelids.
i watch the weight of unemployment fracture, but never break him.
watch his father emasculate him...make it hard for him to call himself a man,
my cousin finds strength regardless, to be acknowledged as such.
locks his tears in the slit of his eyes.
locks them in a smile; a lie stretch`d across his face,
most of the time.
don`t blame him for feelin` lonely & anger`d...i tell him,
"my brother & i are your family, now"
he smiles...watches the "roach" eventually burn itself out,
then takes a swig of his MYSTIC fruit punch.
we change the subject.
laugh as we quote our parents
contradictin` themselves
laugh while he reaches for box cutters
...slices the "GOLD&MILD"...& hollows its shell
to roll another blunt.
we go for a ride...still smokin` the blunt
he roll`d before we left...take in the scenary from our windows.
funny what heat`ll do.
make sistas flowers, who bloom in the Spring
& shed their petals to humidity.
our smiles are big
while we look at stretch jeans, clingin` to the perspiration
of their skin.
look at hips hangin`...swingin`
like a bag full of groceries, walkn` down the block.
we watch those sistas fade from rear & side -view mirrors.
watch the earth spin slow...draggin` today over her shoulders
like laundry bags goin` to the laundromat...washin' today into the past.
we head for his home through one of many corridors
inside Suitland`s lewis ave ghetto...talk some more...tells me
when he ain`t smokin` weed, he finds tranquility in a pen and pad...
says i inspired him to write...i thank him for the compliment...
hands embrace before we do...
i tell him i love him...we say "peace".
that`s when i wrote this poem.
