walking around
the bazaar of all nations
holding a soft pretzel and a juice
it was a friday night
december 1979
i remember because mom and daddy
had formed a temporary truce
left on my own
back then kids could safely roam
all through the stores
finished my soft pretzel
still had some juice
so i went back and bought one more
soft pretzel still piping hot
from bernies oven
store speakers blaring
spencer davis group
gimme some lovin
i walked into the store
that sold old paperbacks
searching through the old wooden racks
my hands rested upon
stories of sports glory
and the autobiography of malcolm x
smiled and thought in my young mind
aint too much a good story cant correct
except my family
i took five books
to the cashier lady
she raised a brow
said young man how old are you
maybe 13
this book is too much for you right now
i said yes maam
but with all due respect
i live on the edge of abuse
so i have a need to read
pretty soon as matter of fact maybe tonight
momma will reach for a knife
and my daddy will bleed
she rang me up
still shaking her head
saying my god you are way too young
but who am i to stop you from escaping
aint no age limit when trouble comes
i walked back to daddys car
we didnt drive far
before daddy cursed and momma swore
never understood why
momma always said she was leavin
and the next day she would be back for more
now that i am grown
writing this tome
i realize momma wanted
for me and my brothers any kind of home
you see that was a time in the black community
not too many mothers were raising kids alone
i would hear the women talk
on our front steps
comparing bruises
and comforting the one most upset
friday night december 1979
still i night i cant forget
blood spilled in my family
daddy why do you talk so much
i read all about knife wounds and such
the blade you shouldnt touch
thats for the paramedics to remove
from the chest
of my family
you see
momma and daddy
had reached the point
when hate filled lava starts to flow
in my room
i lost myself in detroit red
and pretended i didnt know
i had a funny feeling
in the pit of my chest
today they would diagnose it as stress
but back in december 1979
black folks always prayed to god
and hoped for the best
what shall be shall always be
reading about black unity
wonderin if i would ever see
the real meaning of family
walking around
the bazaar of all nations
stopped for a soft pretzel and a juice
it was a friday night
december 1992
my wife and i had formeda temporary truce
i walked into the store
that sold old paperbacks
happy to have my wife off of my back
never were we
like my momma and daddy
we prefered verbal attacks
i stopped and stared
at the old cashier
thought my god she has aged in 13 years
she turned to the right
and i saw old damage to her left ear
most likely
from her family
i said hello
i usta come here as a young fellow
i am sure you dont remember me
that night
despite your reluctance
you let me buy malcolms autobiography
she smiled and said
honey it seems we all
walk a path that we a powerless to choose
before you know it
13 years gone by
and you never stopped to cry
or touch the scab of a bruise
i said thank you so much
i was touched
and started to walk on out
she said come here and gave me a hug
whispered in my ear be strong like malcolm
when push comes to shove
it was like she knew
there was trouble in my family
i met my wife
in the lamp store
she looked at me and asked if i was okay
i made up some kind of lie
daddy always said grown men dont cry
i wonder what was his alibi
when i saw tears in his eyes
seems no matter how hard we seek
to prevent a repeat
you cant easily escape
how you were raised
i do believe in heaven
but it is kinda hard reachin for paradise
when in hell you were made
to question family
we got into the car
started to argue
all the way home
at the house she went to our bedroom
closed the door and complained about me
on the phone
sayin i was just like
my family
yesterday
i was cleaning out the basement shed
in the corner i saw that lamp we had bought
held it in my hands
and my throat caught
my wife and i
been apart 3 years or forever
i guess it depends
my brother with the bed you make
you cant run from fate
or escape
the original sin
of your family
i put that old lamp out
for the trash pick up
alone
with old memories
as i finished this tome
went back inside and ate a cold dinner
with no noise or ringin of the phone
with no family

All Poetry by D.Greaves/Darwin Greaves by D.Greaves-Darwin Greaves is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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