The Beautiful Ones

It’s been so long a wait,

For this breed of little beings

“Will they ever come to birth, or

Was it yet another metaphor

To tame my teenage angst?”

I wandered and pondered.

Sometimes I used to think,

“What’s keeping them for so long?”

Aren’t we beautiful enough or,

Are the poor little things flushed

And washed down the gutter already

Wrapped in our elastic rubber suits?

Today morning I heard one,

Reaching out for my affection

Crying softly by the roadside,

Along the windy path of life

Rejected. Suffocated. Dumped.

Who will bear the beautiful ones?

Bleed my black

“A pound of flesh,” you insist,

Isn’t it? Thou shalt have it sir.

Chop off my hinds first, will you?

Well, amuse yourself officer.

Let loose your hounds of havoc, and

Wreck my sack of ghetto bones.

Bleed me out of my misery.

Immolate my remains too, will you?

Well, have it your own damned way!

Still, all there shall ever be is black.

The Franc Phoney

I said to the black lady,

"Excuse me Madame"

"Ce qui?" She said apathetically.

"Err, sorry to bother you ..."

"Je ne pas comprends,"

"Do you know this address?"

"Désolé, Je ne Parle pas anglais."

I turned away disconcertedly.

As the train slithered away

Deeper into the dingy tunnel,

I wallowed in nostalgic reveries,

Swamped by memories of home,

Awoken by the hissing engine

Now, looking back I wonder

Who, between the black Madame

And I, is truly, truly lost? 

The Smile of Color

Disenchanted and haggard,

I squeeze into a busy station

Against the mighty waves of folks;

A swarm of passengers of all kinds

Hurrying in all directions.

I conveniently plant myself firmly

In a tiny spot on the waiting train

I sit at the edge of the pew,

Surrounded by odd-looking faces

You know the penetrating eyes,

Yes, razor sharp eyes of strangers

Daggering, piercing, and poking?

And what of the long, straight faces?

Oh, what a terrible scare it is!

I crane my neck across the cabin

And, oh! I'm not the only one.

Grinning at me from the back is

A true son of the soil. A brother.

Suddenly, my heart warms up inside,

And I smile back at him instinctively.

It was such a colorful smile!

The Last Bow

My paint brush is dry,
Sucked all its lifeblood
By the luscious pages
Of her vast bare buttocks.
Oh how I'd paint,
And paint. And paint again.
Long were the nights
That trickled down into dawn,
Awash with my psychic urges.

I remember how on this night,
Under a moon sky full of stars,
I drew her body in  raunchy  contortions
And with every stroke of my paint brush,
Created the perfect picture of myself.
Out of the folds of her blurred lines
Came my most valued work of art,
A priceless masterpiece.