Watermelon, Guns, KFC, Oh my!!

I’m a Nigger

My skin is darker than most,

and because of this fact

I cut my melon eating in public

in half.  Although I enjoy collard

greens, I don’t grow them: I

buy them at the store.  Finding

condoms large enough is a

hassle for me.  I thank the

store clerk who is kind enough

to carry my electronics purchase

to the door for me, even though

he doesn’t hold it open when I leave.

And in my closet at night I chase

KFC with 40’s of Mickey’s and Colt .45’s.

Although I’ve never owned a gun,

old ladies assume I have one tucked under

my baggy stonewashed jeans.  I don’t wear

baggy stonewashed jeans, but I have been

known to wear a joint behind my left ear.  I’ve had

an Afro, braids and relaxed funky hair just

like the song.  And although that isn’t wrong,

I cut it off so I could be hired at a Web-

for-hire business.  I work with two Hispanics,

two whites, a nigger like me

And a New Yorker.

Being "black" is exhausting. Literally, it takes years off a persons' life. Do the research!

This poem is, in part, a reflection of that statement. Can you possibly understand how unsettling it can be to eat certain foods in public? Like my son, Jake, said in a poem once, "Fried chicken is the shit!" and it is. But sometimes I feel like a caricature eating it. So, I start this poem that way, along with having some fun poking at the perceived economics of poor black folk. Then...the penis.

My penis has been fetishized in the past. It started in 2nd or 3rd grade, with an unnecessary "examination", endured through a situation where a couple friends and I peed on the school and everyone wanted to see it (we weren't taking showers yet at school), and culminated with an unfortunate date I went on through OK Cupid (don't judge!). When I was in grade school, everyone thought I could dunk a basketball. It was a rumor I nurtured until it was proven I couldn't (I didn't know karate, either, and wasn't a ninja). If I knew then what I know today, I would've used that fetishization to get a few more dates.

One day, while shopping at Best Buy in Omaha, Nebraska, I bought a stereo. I was escorted from the register to the door, and the guy didn't hold it for me (this was back in the day when BB didn't have auto doors in Omaha). I had to wonder...

Then I poke fun at guns and malt liquor. I have seriously had folks roll up their car window when I pulled up beside them. This would've been around 1993-4, but I hear things haven't changed much.

About hair. Throughout the years, I've done fun things with my hair. Why? Well, you can't really say much about a black person's hair--it's verboten. So, I've had fun with it (and pot)!

And after graduation, I moved to San Antonio, TX. I found great employment at BusinessWire, a company that did (does?) rapid-release earnings statements over the internet (this was newish at the time). I found it very odd this young black kid was working in a downtown skyscraper. I enjoyed the diversity there, but not so much the person from New York. She was...different, unsettling. So, I poked fun at her (you may notice a shout out to Pace Picante Sauce in this).

So, that's the bone for today--and now it's inside you. Where it can do the most good, where you can feel its smooth exterior and wonder at the marrow inside. Maybe a dog can find it.

watermelon/gun pic courtesy of https://gunstreamer.com/watch/45-auto-vs-357-magnum-in-full-sized-handguns-episode-11-watermelon-test_SkZYTHhDOmku2VN.html