Don’t release your *******
Just release my single
I don’t think it’s stunning
When that thing is jingle
******* taste like Pepsi-Cola
******* taste like Marabou
See a ***** – I say hola
Eat that thing like caribou
I want to be your hair.
Then I can just get tangled
and absorb the fresh air
and never have to care.
Because you will untangle and sometimes pattern and braid me.
There it is again, the craving.
I can feel it crawling under my skin.
The need to feed is too strong,
I can't move.
Not until I have it.
The poptarts put a dent in it,
But it's not enough.
The cereal, better,
It's coursing through my veins.
I can feel myself getting stronger.
The pepsi, it fuels me,
I can do everything now,
No one can stop me.
I will be satisfied for now, maybe an hour.
Then the urge will return and the cycle will start again.
This poem was about my mom because she has a problem.
From the womb of the night
Births the Sun ,
Admist the wails of rays and light
Overshadowed in might the night
Slips away in amazing grace
And in good graces goes
The last fleeting breath
of our last night's dreams
The epimonic clatter
We hear year after year
"Goodmorning to all far and near"
There is a Man down the street with a funny eye
He sits in front of his shop, hoping that I’ll walk by and buy
a diet pepsi
a bottled water
a bag of freaking chips
But I don’t buy from the Man with the funny eye
I don’t know why I don’t just stop in and
Thank God Sammy has his store just a little closer
just across the street
but it opens later
Thank God that the corner store is available
at all hours
but to get to it I need to walk by
He doesn’t say anything
Or he doesn’t.
Sometimes he sits outside the shop
sipping coffee or smoking a cigarette
I hear He likes to break up fights, but He never starts them
He wants to teach me Arabic
I want to learn
but I avoid his shop all the same.
Sometimes I cut a zig-zag pattern across the street
from sidewalk to sidewalk
just to maneuver myself around the shop
of the Man with the funny eye
so that I can get to the corner store without walking by.
But I know He still sees me
at least some of the time
at least once.
I just know I’ve hurt Him
at least once.
I’ll walk into His shop
sit down and have a chat
buy a diet pepsi
and a pack of cigarettes
A short poem I wrote about a shopkeeper I met on my street while living in Egypt
— The End —