Before my shift on New Year's Eve, / I slicked my hair back, / traveled the night with my men / maintaining our hard faces / at the girls miniskirted, stumbling / and immune to the cold.

Basquiat’s on the back steps with my niece / helping her to draw a picture of us all, / tossing back gray dreadlocks as they fall / into his eyes. My Sister argues politics / with Martin and Coretta in the back yard / over ribs – Romare Bearden’s cooking – / Malcolm puts his two cents in between / bites of peas and rice.

I watch my daily intake of cheerios, peanut butter, salad greens / I can do two major job applications per day / I can lick my wounds

All that aching blondness / You think it’s easy to be a pretty boy / starving in America.  Everybody guessing / what you will do and who will do you / For that extra portion of the American Pie