My lavender tee is tall
as a ballroom gown
but no one dares
to say anything like that
to my face. Durag bisected
by black & Carolina blue
stitching to contrast,
each of my newly purchased
Air Force Ones
shimmering white
as opportunity.
Against the pull
of crass familiarity
& my parents' warnings
about the historical
dangers of the D train,
I'm posted up
on the Lower East Side,
dead set on buying
my first album without
supervision or shame.
The front cover reads
From Me to U & it almost
feels like a form
of direct address.
Me & Juelz Santana
are damn near the same
age & although I have yet
to hold a gun or serve
the block my will
is good. I am 15
& everything
is possible.
I am private school
by way of two buses,
one regional train
a first alarm
at 5:25 AM shaking
the entire house
by its neck. My parents
know Jesus loves us
all, abhors
our weaknesses. Dip
Set is contraband
by extension.
Hence, I fled
to the basement
for cover, anxious
to hear a certain version
of my own, moderate life
recited back to me
in spectacular hues,
jacuzzis & bulletproof
vests, rhyming couplets
that all end in the exact
same word, almost
as if some argument
for love beyond
magnetism, some
postmodern parlor
trick, some living, future
English, & everyone in it
is immortal.
