four poems, two images
dont bother me
dont bother me
i cant be bothered
cant you see i cant be bothered
so why bother me
dont bother me
dont bother me im busy
i am too busy to be bothered
so why are you
why are you bothering me
what would possess you to bother me
after i told you that i cant be bothered
just dont bother me
im too busy
too busy for you
too busy for me
too busy to be bothered
so leave me alone
and dont bother me
Suck my dick beneath this bathroom stall.
Get down there and give me head.
Wrap fresh lips around the shaft.
Suck my cock and call me master, cracker.
Get down there and give me head
And use some spit on this blackboy’s dick
While you suck my cock and call me master, cracker
For I don’t want to see your face for days.
Use some spit on this blackboy’s dick.
Play with the head.
I don’t want to see your face for days
Nor do I care to know your name.
Play with the head
I said, you know how much I like that.
I don’t want to know your name
But you can taste my cum.
I think you would like that.
Men tell me I taste like chicken.
You want to taste my cum?
Deep throat it.
Men tell me my cum taste like chicken
But you better not give me teeth
When you deep throat it
As my thighs are ajar like two car doors.
You better not give me teeth.
I don’t want your phone number after this
When my thighs are shut
And I’m wiping up our mess.
We used to get along so well.
I would chase you around the house
like brothers always do.
Hold you down,
arms pinned playfully at age seven
to carpet until you gave back
my DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince tape.
Leave that girl alone,
as she baptizes the chicken in flour.
You were the baby of the family
who got away with everything.
Panties left on the bathroom floor,
Barbie dolls soaking off make-up
in soapy bath water.
You are the girl I ate
Froot Loops with in the den.
Remember when we use to run
to the bathroom and lock ourselves away
from mama’s leather belt of love?
The two of yall can’t be using the bathroom at the same time,
she would scream.
So I would open the door and push you out.
You would migrate to your room,
squeeze your Care Bear
until the fear subsided
into more important things
like Strawberry Shortcake coloring books.
And then we grew up.
I moved from Red Rider BB Guns
to the car keys of mama’s
You went from a Huffy bicycle,
to the wonders of lip-stick
and a crush on a guy named Michael Jackson.
Now your into LL Cool J to my
We have become like the grown folks
we weren’t supposed to be around.
You have breasts.
I have chest hair and journals fueled with poems.
You had a baby and named her Jasmine Mulan
I went to college to study Creative Writing.
You moved out when the ten o’clock
curfews became worse than root canals.
I stayed to decorate
my walls with Janet Jackson posters
and tolerate mama’s complaints
like slaps in the face.
Now we hardly talk,
and I feel as if I need
to introduce myself to you
as your brother all over again.
Whatcha got there between those tie-died buttons,
Centerfold skin, layers of sexy flesh?
What is it that your zipper barricades
Above the belt, below those pitch black inseams?
Anklebone in those cotton tube socks.
I see those eraser nipples pressing through the oxford shirt.
I want to lick your steel-toed boots.
Come on Chuck and step on my face.
Come over to my place after work.
I’ll leave the door unlocked
Waiting naked like a porno star
In that queen sized bed.
I’ll wait to peel off those black slacks,
Rip off that standard issued paisley vest.
Shove the bow tie in your mouth
In case you need to bite down on something.
Show me you’re hard on.
Issue yellow streams of urine
Pass a black man’s beard.
Piss splashes against chin,
Trickling down neck,
Into an Afro of chest hair
That settles into belly button.
I want to give you the feeling of another
Man’s saliva drying on your prick.
Let me know before you come
Because there are some things, I just won’t do.