Backwards
White boy, singing. Black girl, singing.
Stop singing!
They continue to sing.
White boy says he doesn’t understand,
so I touch his cheek as I explain
that I want him to
STOP SINGING!
I fear that, perhaps,
I have gone too far.
A man calls out from behind me
as I walk the city streets.
They know all about you and they know you take drugs.
I keep walking, but I fear
they will put me away.
My students are in cages
large and small
I welcome two new students.
I know the girl. I like her.
I do not know the boy.
Did you know that Lincolns are more technologically advanced that Cadillacs?
Now you know.
I am witness to a tribal dance.
I will not join this dance.
I stand immobile.
The room is getting crowded with people.
I stand stock still, watching.
Now there is a call-and-response.
Standing close to me,
a tall, middle-aged muscular man,
naked to the waist,
takes his turn.
His voice makes the room tremble.
He smells of earth and sweat.
I am not afraid.
My last day at work
and I haven’t done one thing
except sit on my ass all day.
I rise from my chair to leave
when I notice there’s dog shit everywhere.
Boss commands everyone clean it up.
They’re expecting visitors, maybe?
A bug crawled in my dream book when I picked it up.
A roach crawled through the front door.
I put it outside.
I got water from the ditch for the tadpoles.
Hours later I discovered a ladybug treading water.
I fished it out and placed it on some english ivy.
A small flying critter was trapped against the kitchen window.
I got it and put it outside.
The tadpoles died two days later.
Someone has a knife.
I have one too.
My guide leads me to the top of a small mountain.
The view is so much better here.
Her name is Janice.
I first met Janice when I followed Chris Cornell in heaven
the day after he died by suicide.
Janice has long, blond hair.
Her head nestles on my shoulder
as we sit on the hard stone bleachers
in an open-air ampitheater
deep in the green woods.
Chris Cornell is playing the piano
in these deep green woods.
