Friday, October 24, 2014

poem of the day 10.24.14


the accidental racist #1

we’re running on half a sick day
pushing it forty-eight hours before vacation

riding the slowest 6 train uptown
to drop off a set of keys to my wife’s parents
at the cancer center

because they’re staying with us
for three days or five days
or we don’t know how many days

until the doctors give her mom the okay
to go back home

my wife is a goddamned wreck with all of this

their doctors’ appointments
other shit, her shit, work shit
the shitty small apartment we spent the morning fighting over

neither of us want to be on an uptown 6 right now

there’s never room to breathe on these trains
no matter the time of day

the girl between us is hugging the pole like a stripper

she’s draped on the thing
a lollipop in her mouth
playing on her cell phone and teasing with her boyfriend
getting the slime of millions on her clothing

she weighs maybe one-hundred pounds
but she won’t give us an inch

new york, new york in the late summer blues
it amazes me that there aren’t more murders committed here

my wife finally gives up and pulls her hand away
she goes somewhere else to stand

the girl looks at her, rolls her eyes at her boyfriend

he says, she don’t want to stand next to you
because you ain’t white

like that’s it, asshole, i think

as his girl continues to hug the pole
spinning around now and knocking into everyone

because a bitch like her, she owns the 6 train

yeah, she don’t want to get your brown on her, he continues
if you was a white girl she’d probably be all huggin’ up on you

white people too good for the train, the girl says
she laughs, keeps sucking her lollipop

i look over at the boyfriend
he’s got that clueless cro-magnon look
tattoos up and down the arm because he’s a bad ass

he’s glaring at my wife
who maybe does or does not know
that’s he’s talking about her

all i know is that she looks scared shitless
and more tired than her thirty-seven years should allow

fucking honkeys, he says under his breath
as i take a step toward him

his girl goes, shush

while i start to fantasize about smacking
his fat face off of the glass doors of the train

taking that big mouth of his
and wrapping it around that pole

sliding him to the train floor
one tattooed arm behind his back
pulling it up toward his thick tattooed neck

as his girl screams and tries to bat me off

whispering in his ear like a lover
tell me all about your racism now, my friend
please tell me.           


the accidental racist #2

we’re running on half a sick day
pushing it forty-eight hours before vacation

riding the slowest 6 train uptown
to drop off a set of keys to my wife’s parents
at the cancer center

because they’re staying with us
for three days or five days
or we don’t know how many days

until the doctors give her mom the okay
to go back home

my wife is a goddamned wreck with all of this

their doctors’ appointments
other shit, her shit, work shit
the shitty small apartment we spent the morning fighting over

neither of us want to be on an uptown 6 right now

there’s never room to breathe on these trains
no matter the time of day

the girl between us is hugging the pole like a stripper

she’s draped on the thing
a lollipop in her mouth
playing on her cell phone and teasing with her boyfriend
getting the slime of millions on her clothing

she weighs maybe one-hundred pounds
but she won’t give us an inch

new york, new york in the late summer blues
it amazes me that there aren’t more murders committed here

my wife finally gives up and pulls her hand away
she goes somewhere else to stand

the girl looks at her, rolls her eyes at her boyfriend

he says, she don’t want to stand next to you
because you ain’t white

like that’s it, asshole, i think

as his girl continues to hug the pole
spinning around now and knocking into everyone

because she owns the 6 train

yeah, she don’t want to get your brown on her, he continues
if you was a white girl she’d probably be all huggin’ up on you

white people too good for the train, the girl says
she laughs, keeps sucking her lollipop

i look over at the boyfriend
he’s got that clueless cro-magnon look
tattoos up and down the arm because he’s a bad ass

he’s glaring at my wife
who maybe does or does not know
that’s he’s talking about her

all i know is that she looks scared shitless
and more tired than her thirty-seven years should allow

fucking honkeys, he says under his breath
as i take a step toward him

his girl goes, shush
while i start to think about what to say back

how to make this train blush
with a whole dictionary of epitaphs
that can gush like a volcano from any willing mouth
in this hard and foolish land

me and cro-magnon boy going toe to toe
slapping tongues of hatred that we’ll never escape
keeping us both stuck in the mud only less than pigs

with america shining down
whispering in our ears like a lover
saying tell me all about your racism now, my friend
please tell me.                                                                                                                                      

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