photo by kalamu

WADING IN THE WATER

(to/for Julie Wedding)

Honesty is a crock

Of you know what—and I have a mishmash

Of regrets to certify the sad truths

My life has taught, I am usually

An optimistic person, sunny, bright

Outgoing, devoted to parents & friends, so

Why does life keep shitting on me?

Keep hobbling me like rice-sized rocks or corn

Kernels I can never dislodge from my sandals; I know, i

Know, if I wore socks, or better yet

Stockings, pebbles would not be a problem

I could easily dislodge the impediment shards

With a whisk of my wrist, slip back into

My work shoes and move on—but what is wrong

With sandals, with bare feet even, jeez

What is so wrong with being real, why

Do we have to dress up before people recognize

Who we are? besides what happens as we grow

Comfortable, well not really comfortable, as we

Settle in and become resigned to what we become

When we wear costumes, what happens?

Shit happens, that’s what happens

When you are no longer young twenty attractive

You’re on the begging side of attention

I’m convinced every man wants a girl and all

Of the fine fellas find women too difficult

Especially when we demand loving more substantial

Than a quick fuck, I’m sorry to say it like that, no

What I mean is, I’m sorry our lives are lived like that

I could be happy doing what I do well except

What I do well is not what is wanted

By those who certify pieces of paper

You can take to some money changing vault

In exchange for the best hours of your day

Being enchained to rules, rules and more

Infernal rules to keep you running but never arriving

The daily grind is what curdles the milk

And sours the wine of life, when I was driving

Home the last time I even thought of driving

Off a bridge were it not for filial responsibility

To a mother whose age I probably will never make

Not sanely at least—one day you will receive

A call, they will not say I am dead

That would be too much of a thankful release

They will simply say she was standing

In the river singing when the medics

Gently fished her out and committed her

I hope I am wrong about the future

But it is long past dawn and still

No sun is coming up

—kalamu ya salaam