RIDING THE RTD BUS DOWN CRENSHAW
muh is mixing the white flaky carnation powder with cold tap water
here use this for you and your brother’s cereal
i refuse it
imitation milk is not natural
muh stops to get ed a red jelly filled donut
i get the glazed
then she shuffles us onto the rtd bus
we savor the taste of the donuts
but really we are just happy to be with her
and it doesn’t matter
that the fbi is a lurkin’
and it doesn’t matter
that we are nearly broke
and it doesn’t matter
that muh carries the beat downs/scars from men on her body
and it doesn’t matter
that people look at her and wonder
who is this little white boy holding her hand
before she buckles their stares with
yeah this is my son
then looking at ed and me and telling us
people are just so damn ignorant sometimes
the next morning i try the carnation milk
it taste like vomit
and i learn early on
how to endure
BLUE DUMPSTER
This scar of a star above my right eye
Reminds me of how easily blood
Escapes skin to meet air
And how you and I
Had to become steel
You and I wrapping our legs together in the bathtub
You and I letting our chest nipples meet
And the metallic taste of your lips absorbing
Red memories eaten by the hood
And behind this scar we are caressing each other
Bodies warming the coolness drifting below the savory joint
Two homeboys locked in excitement
For the touch of flesh melts even the hunger for a mother and a father
Scars we lug forever on sagging shoulders
Like worms taking a mulatto corpse slowly
Scars dangling from hearts
Kidneys
Teeth
Behind eyes
Between toes
Past ripping our bodies boldly
A scar need not be visible
Two homeboys touching each other in order to survive
ONCE HAD A BRIEF CONVERSATION
AT A STRIP CLUB IN ARIZONA
the stripper: hey sweetie, you want a lap dance?
me: i’m waiting for her
the stripper: who?
me: her, up on stage. i’m in love with her.
the stripper: okay. don’t know if you want to fall in love with a stripper, though.
me: yeah i know . . . i’m just playin’.
the stripper: you sure about that?
me: actually i’m really in love with someone who looks like her.
the stripper: oh, well when she’s done make sure you get a lap dance.
me: yeah, i’m gonna need a couple of ‘em.
About the author:
Donnelle McGee is a Jimi Hendrix freak and wishes he could dunk a basketball. He earned his MFA from Goddard College. His work has appeared in Controlled Burn, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Home Planet News, Iodine Poetry Journal, Permafrost, River Oak Review, The Spoon River Poetry Review, and The Dirty Napkin, among others. His work has also been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
