he / consorts with Five-O, who sets speed traps, branding / hot tickets at lunchtime; he chats under fumes with fire- / men who siren their way through the pallid smoke in / his apartment complex; he knows that the green Lexus / sitting on 22s belongs to recalcitrant butthole living / off burnt out mom in apartment 2B, who gives her son / all her pocket change, living in her big guilt.

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.