Loretta wears an Angela Davis sphere
picked to perfection atop a broad skull,
colored insolence-orange to compliment
her red-bone tone and the white boys love it-
or so they say when they say something at all
to a picayune yeller waiting table for tips;

she saves three months strong to buy
suede kitten heels and a rayon fluted skirt-
fine as anything the white gals sport
down at the legionnaire's hall on Saturday nights,
kicking ankles and hems to black-balled beats;
but she can't go where she can't go so

she dances to echos in the outside lot
while old men pass bottles on benches nailed to brick-
they blink like Lazarus as she bumps and grinds,
their laughter cracks across the gravel
like cartridges jacked into waiting breeches,
cold as a cocking trigger.


Michael said...

This one is awesome. I love how you placed all the colors right beside each other in the first stanza. The language has great sound. It really goes to show how you put a lot more care into choosing your words than a lot of writers.

Inconsequential said...


666poetry-finchnot said...


ah / you still have it :)

so here i am / try ing to figure out
who is letter shaper / lol

should have known it was you
it was your shoe fetish that gave you
a way / lol

hope you are well / & not getting in to too much trouble


N said...

Wonderful. I could see her dancing in that lot.

Also love the effects on your pic!

Paperback Writer said...

I loved this piece.

floots said...

love the power of this
especially the sound and imagery of the last three lines

Brian C. Mauger said...

So strong; every line a chapter to the story.

The final stanza is amazing.

Aisha said...

hey! Well Im glad u liked my site. Not sure how lng ago u posted tht comment...
Love the pix on ur blog. I will confess tht poetry sometimes makes little sense to me.