That’s So Me

Your eyes cast a pall

over a lone Black man,

plaited hair and face like Everest - 

cold intimidating unconquerable

You wonder what beat his rap sheet rides,

maybe he spits on beats, hustles at night.

You’ve already read the story his knuckles

might tell if you ran your fingers across each one.

You tread lightly, quicksand fear of dynamite:

explosive corrosive

the black heat of Black life.

When he speaks his voice shocks!

The violence you projected

(predicted?)

shutters, the sound bent, the wrist

limp.  In crash the waves of apprehension.

Yes, he may hope in his crooked mind to sample

your chapped lips or blow your homie, whom

he’s already fucked but you’ll never really know,

because that business belongs to them.  His voice

shocks! Sings!  Bereft of Black bass.  Where is

thunder if it always trails behind lightning? Run

for cover.  Clutch your nuts, clench your butt.

You don’t see a Black man

when you see a Black man

& if you’ve seen a Black man,

have you seen a Black man?