Three different black females
are on this bus
loud ones walk straight to the back
they cuss because they can
they cackle and make threats
they're bustin' out
of their stylish clothes
they stare unabashedly and
they don't give a fuck what
that motherfuckin' cracker
in the front
thinks about them
they pop gum
they hold credit cards
they rolled necks
they point fingers
they shout to be
heard.
Young ones have no chance
they get on last
they sit in the middle
they are quiet yet anything but demure
their hair is a state of unfinished:
tight gelled cornrows that turn into puff balls
they wear tight jeans
with tight belts
and tight denim shrugs
the kind called boleros elsewhere
they don't know that
they've got pink cellphones
they text like desperate rats
they glance back at the loud ones
they admire unabashedly
I live in fear and awe
of the loud ones behind me
and I fear for and cringe
at the young ones ahead
I'm like neither of them
and I feel worst for it
I'm not angry enough to cuss
I'm not popular enough to text
Between the two, I am not solid.
I stand on a peat bog society
ready to crumble any moment
I wear faded jeans not because they're cool
I wear old Chucks, there's a hole on the side.
I watch unabashedly and
I record what
I can't be
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4 comments:
you should ask mel what i think about the word bog.
aside from that, i really like this one because i identify with the poet.
somewhere buried deep within me is i'm sure the back-of-the-bus-riding, loud-talking, finger-pointing me i could've been had any number of factors been slightly changed.
somewhere.
I dig what you mean. I feel like that's the overall tone of the poem. "I could have been. . ."
The poet is full of bull-shit, i hope you know.
ha, like i said, i identify with the poet.
and damn straight i'm back! with a freakin' vengence man! take no prisoners! Leave no words untouched! tally ho!
haha...bog.
shouldn't it be gob?
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