Wannabe
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.
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