After Ruth Stone – 1941
I wore an innocent bowl cut like boys in Pull-Up ads. Yo era gordo: chubby cheeked, back in fish smelling Providence. You had a pomp cut gold digi Seiko watch white croc polocher dark blue denim shiny sepia wingtips a lined up ‘stache the role played right; un pariguayo echándola at a hood party ready to jolt under a pop fly. Lavoe was jamming,
las congas, timbales y claves had everyone moving and you were cortando la pista con blanquitas in dim lit corners exposing thick white long legs craving to be sniffed – licked. You attracted a beautiful crowd full of praise, glory while your brown self looked like a God all powerful and knowing. I felt the love too, their whiteness called me to trace them with my fingers and suck them like you did. I was transfixed on becoming something more than a kid by your side while you lied to Mami. First stab at white ladies birthed a fiend with a numb tongue. That cracked world is dust.