AND THREE

Look at homie, really look: a tertiary

definition of devotion. Check the

dictionary thicker than a bible open

on his desk, and it is a bible, to him,

an A to Z gospel. It takes a lot of

effort to truck paper and cardboard

bound in leather, mended with tape,

from trolley to bus, work to the gym.

And it takes a lot of effort to shift

diction. Not easy mixing registers,

at Rite Aid, scooping vanilla ice

cream, stocking boxes, or in class,

unpacking carpe diem from yolo.

It’s hard to sit quietly during lecture.

Take the Greeks, their city-state

gangs, slaves, and perfection of 3’s.

Homie don’t see Homer in himself.

Identity is the maze’s Minotaur. Helle

easy to lose yourself. It doesn’t seem

like a big deal to accept Locke. Nod

at Jefferson. Academics smile when

you declare a life bent on beauty. It’s

like finding God, believing you might

get a job. During Minorities in Lit,

his last elective in undergrad, the 3rd

act begins. He raises his hand and asks

when they’ll read one book about

brown folks, if there’s just one book

in his Eurocentric education that

doesn’t pivot on disenfranchisement,

ain’t about being less. It takes a lot of

effort to reply, Maybe I will, when the

professor asks, flush, You’re a poet, right?

Why don’t you write something like that?