hot nights make me think about Radio Raheem,makes me want to fight the power with a cold beer and a tin fan,
makes me want to melt ice cubes on Rosie Perez's breasts,
makes me want to help Mooky deliver pies in the burning noon sun,
makes me want to argue with Sal over the price of one slice...one f'king slice?
makes me want to keep trying to run a business like a Korean convenience store owner,
makes me hate the other,
but makes me want to understand...
in the night,
sometimes,
words are given to me,
hope is given to me,
nerve is given to me,
I hear a voice,
it says quietly,
stand up... look at me... and tell me that you got nothing...
this is just a game,
just as quick is gone...
it don't matter then.
3 comments:
Each day
slog out there
swing big fists
of love and hate
Old Ollie
The latter part of this is like a punch in the gut. For me, its translucently liberating.
Nice delve, Dox.
Good, indeed. I remember seeing this movie when it came out. Blew me away. This poem does it justice. It has got an urban longing, an urban one-two punch.
Well done.
Post a Comment