root - Posted on 13 May 2001

by Tiny

Crazy...Crazy for feeling..

so lonely

I think it was the shiny

green plastic of the hefty
bag that held the contents
of what used to be our

apartment.....and the soft
way it felt to my fingers-
or maybe it was the thick

black boots of the

marshals- they always have
the thickest, blackest

boots.. or the clanking of
the locksmith and the

salivating of the landlord
holding our 22nd unlawful
detainer in his hands

or maybe it was the “shit”
inside the bags that used to
be memoirs, family photos,
clothing, and
before it was thrown out of
a side window into an abyss
of sidewalk, back of car

and trashcan- divorced from
its lofty “status” of

things-now lucky to be

called, “:shit”

Crazy....crazy....for feeling...

or maybe it was the inside

of your mouth as my tongue
tried to reach for a

..a yes that you would

help with my rent when we

were on the brink of


...a yes that you would

bail me out of jail

...for serving my time

for crimes

of pover...ty

or a yes that you wouldn’t
be like my father...

who left my poor mother

and me for dead

But you wouldn’t.shouldn’t couldn’t.didn’t...

cause I had to learn my


learn that poverty caused

me to drop out of school in
the sixth grade

learn that we were


learn that I had no access,
no privelege

and learn it good

Crazy....Crazy...for feeling.....

So when did I start to understand what was wrong...

Perhaps when you stood there
looking at me...

Sexually attracted to my


Perhaps when the Ca-chunk

of fresh paint from your

2000 jeep cherokee

Slammed in my face as you

said no- just NO...I’m not
helping you


Or was the five cellmates, who

knew like me, the absolute

pain of never being


To always live behind the

bars of poverty

and its extended



substance abuse and crisis

Bars so thick they can’t

ever be overcome

or overpaid.....

loving you....


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