excerpt of an unsent letter for the first president bush , 1989

enter the prez

he,

back from kennebunkport

(sure he and barbie had a good time)

look out the window!

(mr president, sir)

we aint got no summer home.

we,

we lucky

to have a run-down shack

one for every season

of every year

but we can dream,

can’t we?

of the homeless and the beggars.

of the farmers and the college valedictorians

driving cabs,

flipping burgers,

bagging groceries

filing for bankruptcy.

of social insecurity.

but give to other nations,

it’s okay!

isn’t it?

mr. prez,

do you like what you see?

do you really see

a kinder, gentler nation out there?

where

oh where,

art thou?

come on,

mr. president.

sir.

your highness

your majesty.

(let me stand up as you enter the room.

                                                                                                now, let me wait for permission to be seated.)

look out the window.

catfood is a delicacy for some.

beggars are begging.

the starving are starving

in your own backyard.

not in space.

is your obliviousness

fact

or

fiction?

you vomit up a story to feed us.

                To pacify us.

                                                (but my eyes have never been covered)

must we believe that racism is a thing of the past?

that poverty

illiteracy

bigotry

the uninsured

is on the decrease?

mr. president,

the usa is not kansas.

prez,

this is not the land of oz.

if you click your heels

one two three times---

                                ---the rich will still get richer

and the poor will still get poorer.

you will still have your summer home,

and we will still have our run-down shack,

if we’re lucky.

Affirmative Action

Khadija  Tunisha  Jenkins keeps checking white on job applications

even tho’ both

her parents  r black as midnight;

she aint white!

and don’t she know that

when they call  her

(despite the name, they Will call her since they think she’s white!)

they’ll  take  one  look at her

and

her

interview’ll

be

over

quicker

than

i

can

end

this

poem?

Broke/ can't fix

Take a  beating.

Take it rough.

Take it till you’ve

Had enough.

A face-slapping;

That’ll do.

Take it ‘til you’re

Black and blue

Take a scalding.

Take it hot.

Take it ‘til it

hurts to squat.

Take many insults

But don’t shed a tear

There’ll be plenty more

Throughout the coming years

Take all of the above

And seal them with a kiss.

God bless you

If you can live through this.

have/ have not

I have black skin. you don’t.

I have nappy hair. you don’t.

I have thick lips. you don’t.

I have a high school degree. you don’t.

I have a college degree. you don’t.

I have significant work experience. you don’t.

I have life experience. you don’t

I have black skin; you don’t,

so

I have points against me. you don’t.

I have pent-up rage. you don’t.

but

I have GOD on my side.

&

You don’t.

Up In Flames

Dear friend:

         While I do appreciate your love for me,

          It

          has taken on

          a different

          form.

          Frustrated.

         Unrequited;

         what was once

          a

          small  sparkle in your eye

          has now

          spread

          like a fire,

          growing.

          expanding its boundaries.

          consuming  everything                   in        its path.

          nothing is left behind.

          not

          even

          me.

                                  --alexgeorge

Left on my voicemail; the end of the end

“the only reason


I seemed selfish


was because


I didn't want anyone else to realize


how


amazing


you


are.”
                        The end  (i think. i hope)          

                                                     why is it that people never realize what they have until it's gone?

Tell your husband to stop calling me

Tell your husband to stop calling me

I don’t know where you’re at.

He should know this also since you told me he’s got my phone bugged

He should know that you call me all the fucking time

And I never answer the phone even though u beg me to pick up.

He should know this.
Maybe he thinks you're writing to me or texting me.

I hear your voice telling me you miss me and that I was right

And that you’re glad the Packers won the Superbowl  and that you wanted to know with whom I saw the game and to tell me happy valentines day and that you still have every poem I ever wrote you from the days you would have a bad day at work and you would ask me to write either a love poem or a poem about how empowering women are, and that they're smart and intelligent and that I can't live without you,

you said you counted 100, 101, 105 poems

And he knows this and he keeps calling and asking me where that fucking bitch is at

And I keep telling him you aint no fucking bitch

And if he didn’t beat your ass within hours of your wedding

Because you yelled my name alieux during sex instead of amir

Then he wouldn’t be calling me asking me where you are,
'cause you'd be with him
beside him
and not where you are,
which is as far as you can get from him.

Please tell your husband to stop calling me.

And though I’ve asked you 50 thousand million times

before you moved to Australia to escape him,

Imma have to ask you again,

to stop calling me too
so i can move on
finally.
Please.