# 1 Journey to Fatherhood
I brutally revised - to be the final punctuation
Of my life's clean and brief sentence'�
Until you made me a smirking comma,
Instead of a period, fearing the grammar of possibilities.



*****************

#2 Journey to Empowerment
My hands became tools to discern,
Magical in their abilities to feel what I could not see
Instead of blind, dangling paws of acceptance
Numb, heavy and best kept hidden in pockets



******************


#3 Degrees of Separation
In the mornin', before I catch up with my boys, I
watch from the bus circle,
watch you get outta yo' raggedy red Honda Civic wit'
yo' briefcase,
scratchin' yo' navel through yo' shirt and double
checkin' to see if you locked yo' car.
I check it too, after you run to class. I would tell
you that,
but you'd think I was tryin' to steal it, but that's
alright '

coach.

Dressed like church and smellin' like the mall -
that's what I told my momma 'bout you
and how you hate me callin' you

coach.

I skip most of my classes except for yours and P.E.
Shop class be straight, too... sometimes.
I say dumb shit in class to see what you'll do. Most
people that dress like you
be scared of me, but you diff'rent,

coach.

I know everybody in class think I'm retarded 'cause
they say 'Dr. Hobbs'� and I don't.
But they don't jump slick in my face 'cause I'll kick
a nigga to sleep. Oh my bad,
I would beat a black person up very badly'� Man, it's
been, like, just me and my ma
for the longest and I been playin' football forever '
so '
any black man ever wondered how I was doin' always
been a coach '
I know, I know, you worked all them years for them
master degrees'�
You a doctor, not a coach.
But I'm just sayin' though, why cain't you be both,
for me?

*********************

#4 "Upper Middle class, Half-ass Scarification"

Sweet incision, within the untanned skin under this Cartier.
Roaring decision, to leave more than a flesh wound.
Watchbands for band-aids are the vogue for girls with the world at their feet.
Leather ones stick like lash to slave.
Metal keeps it cool, from itching throughout the day.
Especially during tennis. Unless I'm power-serving.
This dreadful, red slit smiles when I pull the skin
in the middle of my forearm's underside.
Like a toothless mouth talking shit. Looking
like Grandma Lita in the morning with lipstick.
Fumbling for her dentures. Bitching about my father.
I'll get the nerve to cut out all the voices. Soon.
Even if I have to go light-headed and deaf to do it.

*******************
#5 The Fender is Mightier than the Pen

With torn backpack in my passenger's seat, I patiently circle this historically black college's campus like a weary swan ' in search of a place to park.
And then came you, Mr. College Parking Lot Officer.
It doesn't concern you that I am late for class, traveling on a spare donut wheel and, due to belated financial aid, am bereft of the funds needed to attain the parking permit worthy of your approval.
I look into my rearview in fear as you shadow me in your modified golf cart and itchy, spandex looking slacks.
How you peer into my soul through your unforgiving, Aviator shades.
You stalk me, you haunt me. You asshole. Another bloated, overseeing cog in the wheel.
You have forced a peace-loving child of God to yearn for your fortune to pale.
I wish death to you, Mr. Parking Lot Officer. I wish death to you from a mighty blow by my front fender.
That's right. Ah-ma run yo' ass over.

Amen.


*************

#6 Asperger Syndrome
(Autism that Black Folks call 'bein' a Nerd')


I am the child who lived in books.
To avoid unanswered questions and dirty looks.
My thoughts, the rules no one tells me'�
It's a room that don't stay clean.
Mercury got the best of me.
So I am the child who read books aloud alone.
Clothing my naked soul in the writer's voice, I could not trust my own.
Literature and apologies are fundamental.
For black accidentals, like me.

****************
#7 Good friend, Food & Thank You

I fixed your plate at the buffet table, wondering if I should've just cooked.
Rushing to finish, I looked over the jello and cantaloupe at you, sitting
in your high chair in the booth, legs dangling as if on the toilet. I felt
relieved watching you shaking and reworking your Etch and Sketch.
Waiting patiently.

Couples in the booths adjacent to us looked back at you sitting there alone:
oh great, another rice throwing, screaming little brat to ruin the evening. I give
those same looks to other folks when they come in with kids.

But you ate everything and didn't even reach for your drink until I pointed to it.
I could count the grains of rice on the floor; you're getting good with that fork.
You dropped it. Going under the table, you bumped your head trying to get back
to the chair. Before I could catch you, you had showed the lady in the next booth
where it hurt. She stopped spoon-feeding her shirtless and barefoot hellion
to rub it for you. 'Your son's so well behaved.'�

Embarrassed, I helped you to your chair as the waitress refilled my coke. She
seemed intrigued by you too, with her hacked up English.
'He very good child. Nice boy.'�

She patted you on the hand and you mumbled 'Thank you'�,
two grains of rice falling out of your mouth. You didn't even raise hell
when I said let's go to the bathroom. As we passed empty tables with
rice soaked high chairs, other waitresses and patrons smiled as we made
our way to the toilet. Elated, I enjoyed the fortune cooking and wound up
tipping the waitress more than she deserved. We walked to the front desk
to pay, holding hands. You stood and stared at the fish in the aquarium as
the owner himself rang me up, looking over my shoulder at you.
'You've got good fellow there.'�

You came up and started your gibber-English. Funny that the only words
he and I picked up from it were 'food'�, 'good friend'�. Everything life should
remain about. My son, a genius at three.

I hoisted you onto my shoulders as we walked out of the Dragon Room
(a waitress held the door open for us) as if you were the only hope left
in the world. Ignoring the fact that you covered my eyes with your
midget-sized hands, farting on the back of my neck.

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