Today's selection is a poem I wrote in the early spring of 1994, right around the time my son Aaron was born. I was coming from work downtown and I had just been paid. There was a lady drugged out of her mind on the L train going west. She had an open purse full of money and she was gone somewhen else. It was so cliche it was must have been a set up, except for no self respecting cop would let their undercover alter ego get that grimy. Wasn't no Philly white chick going to sign up to look methed out. She was just an old withered dope fiend about to get robbed. I feel bad now, I should have had more compassion, but back then I was just young and still very angry. I thought I was evolved, and in many ways I was, but I couldn't see white supremacy the way I do now. I had no compassion for her condition. All I saw was a doped out white lady on the train on her way into the hood.
White Lady On the "L"
Head back mouth wide open.
gaping tongue
and palate drying
open for my inspection
breasts sagging in polyesyterorangething.
cheap industrial denim covering withered muscles and cellulite
head back eyes fluttering
a mind diverted by some chemical/no substance
Pale white skin draped in drabness
on the "el"an elevated invasion of West Philly
purse wide open high. O.
She better be glad i'm not broke or mad today
No comments:
Post a Comment