"try me"

"try me"

A Poem by h d e rushin

Donna says,
"but not for friends request she would be
alone". And i'm crying while
i'm writing this. You see

we've given over all that's left of us. 
We hold our own hands. Jack off
in the towels of our own s**t mavens. 

Stop dana! No, don't stop. I think my God
the one I love more than me,
eats chitlins. Neckbones and potatoes. 

has a wooden stick always handy for
propping up the hood of his car. 

Pays only half his rent. Gets the "chrome package"
on his heavenly Mark V. And in that thrill of blood
and bondage nods to Coltrane at the Village

shimmy and shakes  to Muddy Waters. Rises to scream 
"that's my jam" when James Brown held
his eyes down on American Bandstand.

It was the sixties, they will tell you. That all
experience in time becomes a window
that sorts pain

through the smallest crack not calked. About this
alarmist , this savior who vaporizes all your stains
then twist ties them down

to plastic; to the one chair the bailiff's didn't toss
to the curb. And yet without acrylic nails

encrusted with faux diamonds, nor number 3 drag queen
eyelashes, nor high wasted shiny leggings a young Black
girl, skin

glistening in the Maryland sun, sung to us her magic words
and on that day herself became
the poem. 

© 2021 h d e rushin


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Reviews

Reading your writing is like watching fireworks, the way you describe things is so explosive, so multi-colored, so unexpected. Besides you having orbital powers of observation, you also observe without judgement, which makes your word portraits so intriguing. The reader sees his/her own biases becuz of what your powerful imagery & inciting language provokes in a reader, but it isn't that you're labeling anything as anything. You're just being a movie camera in words (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 2 Months Ago


h d e rushin

2 Months Ago

thanks Margie....I'm still trying.....dana
it wasn't too long ago that I was halfway through my day and thought "god, I am exhausted" and my mind went immediately to your review recently about the teacher and the box, in and out in and out all of us doing the same, we all have our little wh*res that beat us down, and I can't speak for all, but my kitchen drawer contains a rainbow of twist ties for all the stains that are deemed for emergency use only. I dream of Maryland and the wild horses on the beach, I might have had ancestors there, I have always wanted to go and see it for myself. As for wooden sticks, I have one for the couch to hold the cover on the seating back inside the crack behind the cushions, i have yet to try it out, it just waits for me, maybe today.

Posted 2 Months Ago


h d e rushin

2 Months Ago

to tell the truth, my mother has this same drawer in her kitchen that time has made her forget how .. read more
Corset

2 Months Ago

lol, or moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
your title also reminds me of my dad...with a smile of course.

And how he would always say....when scolding us...."And if you think I'm kidding, Try me!"
I usually didn't.


Posted 2 Months Ago


h d e rushin

2 Months Ago

inflection, I was just thinking, is everything I guess Jacob . If I quicken "try me" and cut it off .. read more
I hear Lou Reed's background singers...do da do da do do da do....
and that jazzy sax creating the mood.
"then he was a she"
this poem had me taking a Walk on that wild side...
Yes, it was the sixties...and sexual identity was being questioned...as were many other things.
I like the "savior who vaporizes all your stains/ then twist ties them down"
When I saw James Brown in concert, he had his eyes down but his feet always moving...and we danced
maybe to a different tune...
but that is life
and Dick Clark's American Bandstand told us we could all dance in our own way...and it was okay.
I love this poem
j.

Posted 2 Months Ago


h d e rushin

2 Months Ago

thank you my friend for those wonderful comments....dana

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Added on January 24, 2021
Last Updated on January 24, 2021

Author

h d e rushin
h d e rushin

detroit, MI



About
black american poet living in detroit. more..

Writing
I've. I've.

A Poem by h d e rushin