Push (15 page)

So I step out on the street that morning, on my own, like Huck Finn or some shit, it's been like that ever since— Harlem, The Village, The Bronx, Queens— I know my way around. I bartend, drive cab, do maintenance. I was super over on 126th and Madison for three years. But I want more than pushing a mutherfuck-ing broom, or slooshing fire juice to other broom pushers. So I came back to school. I knew from day one I should be in G.E.D. class but I know I never woulda wrote this story with those dickheads in there. I never would have stayed.

My face? My eye, ear? Ms Rain say you might want to write about that? Write about six grown men,

I'm 19: by then. What can I say except I fought back. And when it's six men that means you put your fist up and try to hit at least one of 'em 'fore they kill you. I'm with Rita, on that some things don't need to be written about. For example, how it sounds when a fist with two hundred pounds behind it connects solidly with your eye. Or the way concrete does not yield to lip cheek nostril when they meet. And a razor, the closest thing it feels like is extreme cold. Cold so cold it's hot, a laser separating.

I woke up in Harlem Hospital. Like Mama one eye messed up ear too. But the Bible did not save me. I saved myself. Am still saving myself.

That was the second time men took me to school. Only time I don't have a gun on me now is when I go to sleep, even then, Mary-Mae, as I call my rod, is not far away.

It's not over yet!

Jermaine

untitled by Precious Jones

Rain, wheels, bus

car,

only in dreams

I have car

me n Abdul riding like

in the movies

sun a yellow red ball

rising over hills

where indeins usta live

beaches. Islands

where Jamaica-talks live

Bob Marley

song

first I don't unnerstan it

but now I do

CONCREET JUNGLE

it's a prison days

we live in

at least me

I'm not really free

baby, Mama, HIV

where I wanna be where i wanna be?

not where I AM

on the 102

down lex avenue

I do have

lungs take in air

I can see

I can read

nobody can see now

but I might be a poet, rapper, I got water colors my child is smart my CHILDREN is alive some girls in forin countries babies dead.

Look up sometimes and the birds is like dancers or

like programmed by computer how they fly tear up your heart bus moving

PLAY THE HAND YOU GOT housemother say.

HOLD FAST TO DREAMS

Langston say.

GET UP OFF YOUR KNEES

Farrakhan say.

CHANGE

Alice Walker

say.

Rain fall down

wheels turn round

DON'T ALWAYS RHYME

Ms Rain say

walk on

go into the poem

the HEART of it

beating

like

a clock

a virus

tick

tock.

1991