Portrait: Vince

The boy (Vince) who grills my burgers
spits out ill rhymes over the onions
I tap my toes and feel the music
It is in my chest
It pounds like: yo. . . yo . . . yo. . .
Mos Definitely.

On t.v., young black warriors pound
the blacktop with expensive kicks
OOhhhh! They jeer with straight backs
and outstretched arms.

The boy (Vince) who grills my burgers
plates up. His narrow hips shake as
he wraps.
I bob my head and mimic the beat
of the m.c.
I wanna rock the mike like:
yo. . . yo . . .yo . . .
Mos Definitely.