
Poetry
Winning Words: automated reality
Commuh families… yeah. Kam in. I ain’t pun dem gossip scenes, but u gaw know. Scatta-Out izza man whoz wait till need slow roast he head like breadfruit till it tenda, tenda, tenda wid worry. But study it. Dat en life? Dat en we life? Wez wuk an’ save bare sand. Daz all…sand. Den,
Commuh families…
yeah. Kam in.
I ain’t pun dem gossip scenes,
but u gaw know.
Scatta-Out izza man whoz wait
till need slow roast he head like breadfruit
till it tenda, tenda, tenda wid worry.
But study it.
Dat en life? Dat en we life?
Wez wuk an’ save bare sand. Daz all…sand.
Den, caw blen, bare needs does pop-up an hit yuh “blax!”
An’ not only u one, but u soujaz too—
like wuh we man Scatta gine through.
An’ u ent touchin’ da li’l ting growin’ pun d bank,
cause yuh want it grow like weed.
But NEED…hear wha I teou?
Dat ting does lef 3rd-degree burns den.
Ova-cooking de flesh o’ de li’l strength u got
till a spliff and a cig’rit lighta
start calling you by name.
An’ right where dey shove down
de christian mission hall,
and dat flamboya tree—fruitless is hell—
uz end up pun a life block reasonin’ wid u crew,
high an’ mumblin’ a pin numba
4 a polyurethane card.
Den when u had sufficient…uz rev up caw blen…
an’ dirt-bike it ig’runt down de road 2 town.
An’ fuh wuh?
Fuh wuh but 2 scrape crumbz from de friggin’ atm?
2 fling-way dat fade out memo
of u human remains?
More About the Author
Kerry Belgrave
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