30/30: Day 5

"Individuality"

Naked, sweaty men

Still catch my eye. No homo.

I still love wrestling. 

30/30: Day 4

"The Shop"

They call me "Mike Irv"

Before I began to consult "In The Cutt"

To get the newest neighborhood buzz

I had only seen, or heard about "barbershop nicknames"

In movies

TV shows

Or all of the above

I've been informed

Of my supposed resemblance to Michael Irvin before

But any statement achieves maximum credibility

Only when it enters the barbershop atmosphere

Then, it is property of the gods of gossip

The sultans of scandal

And therefore

Can never be dismissed as fiction

I stop by every Tuesday

Alternately Saturday

But that's only when there is no WordPlay later

And watch as the neighborhood

Gets the latest gossip carved into their heads

The air smells of aftershave

And rumors about who fucked that bitch

That just walked out

Explaining her acquaintance

Not every customer is in need for a shape-up

Or a cut however

Some visits are made

Because hood barbers are the smartest weed-men around

And anyone with a head full of hair

And a working brain inside

Will come "shop" with them

These hood establishments

Held together by money and hearsay

Cheddar and chit chat

Are stapled to the hood

Like flyers to bulletin boards

And subconsciously

Interlock it by its roots

All at the sound

Of a set of clippers.

30/30: Day 3

"Idiotic Idioms, Pt. 1"

"The Pot and The Kettle"

The pot turns to the kettle,

Ignorance bellowing from spout

And says,

"Yo mama so black

When she gets out of the car,

The oil light comes on".

Kettle boils over

Angrily

Whistles back,

"yo mama so black

She got her tattoo done in chalk".

Demetrius Amparan emerges

From cloud of steam

And insults

Whispers, 

"Oh my God, I think I heard 'em say a black joke"

T-Weed

of I Love New York

And I Love Money fame appears

Skin resembling shadows in the night

Becoming the new butt of their jokes

Pot and Kettle collaborate,

"His mama so black

She can leave fingerprints

On charcoal".

Demetrius hisses,

"Oooh, burn."

30/30: Day 2

"Santana, Santana, Pt. 2"

Santana, Santana,

You're pregnant. My dreams are

Even better now. 

30 Poems in 30 Days: Day 1

So yeah, for those who don't know, April is National Poetry Month. And in honor of that, poets from all around are collaborating to each write 30 poems for every day this month. I will be posting my poems both here, and on the 30/30 blog. You can check out the other blog here.

"Premature Midlife Crisis, Pt.1" 

"Life Line"

I step up to the line

As if I'm shooting a free-throw

My toes kiss the crack in the pavement

Separating the backyard

Almost in half

Head swings left

Then right

Silence felt like abandonment

To this mild Chicago night

The imaginary crowd has left the building

Replaced by grass that grew from the dirt

That used to form our court

Way back when

When this same crack was the court's sole boundary

And crossing it was life's only dilemma

It's been more than a decade since then

The crack in the ground used to seem like lifetimes from the goal

But at 20 years old

It could past for a three-point line at most

And as I'm shootin' whimsical jumpshots at nonexistent rims

I wonder if my definition of "lifetime" will continue to diminish

Like my life's time

I step up to the line as if I'm shooting a free-throw

Wishing I was

Because then, life would be frozen in time

And the whole world would be waiting

On me

But life is a constant fast break

And I'm still at the free-throw line.