Lucille: Now you got to know better than that. There’s so much information regarding Black folks in this country that never see the inside of anybody’s history book.
Tish: Yeah I know that, but usually you can find out about it from other sources. Leftist materials – places like the Afro-American Historical Society or the copies of old Black magazines or some place.
Lucille: Tish, you amaze me sometimes. Here you are, the Black revolutionary, and you are so willing to believe in “good.” And rights and all that idealistic crap. Girl, how you going to survive a revolution? You believe in people too much.
Tish: If you don’t believe in people how the hell are you going to make it through life? I have to believe in people. That’s what’s going to make a difference. Hey, Che said it. The first love of a revolutionary is his people. I meet somebody talking revolution who’s not talking out of love for people I don’t want to know them. Ideology doesn’t mean a thing without people. That’s what rhetoric is. Deliver me from those kind of people.
Ann: (has been dealing the cards) Excuse me, but are you two going to plot the political course of the country or play cards?
Tish: (they pick up cards and arrange hands) No, but really Cille, I understand your point about our distorted history, but I’m just surprised that I never heard that thing about MacArthur.
Ann: Yeah, I never heard that either, but I wouldn’t doubt it in the least. It sounds par for the course.
Tish: Yeah, well that’s true. My brother used to complain cause he fought in World War II and all they let him do in the Navy was be a cook. I think the fool was lucky. Once they figured out that the niggers wasn’t all going to turn tail and run, they put them dead in front of the guns. Look at Vietnam.
Ann: Tish, how the hell did you have a brother old enough to fight in World War II? Were you even born then?
Tish: Well, remember now I was born in ’44 and was the baby of the family, and a menopause baby at that. My brother was the oldest, plus he got my folks to sign to get him in.
Lucille: Why the hell did they do that?
Tish: They found out the chump hadn’t been going to school for a whole year. They figured that better he be in the service than in the streets. At least I should say my father figured; my mother wasn’t too keen on the idea. And what my father decided was the law; my mother never heard of the Black matriarchy.
Lucille: Yeah, but in a war. Seems like the streets was a hell of a lot safer.
Tish: You don’t know the Houston Police. They didn’t believe in juvenile crime. They’d shoot a Black teenager, old man, baby. Anything that moved, they’d shoot.
Ann: From what I hear, they’re not much different now.
Tish: Now, that’s the truth. Hey, who’s got the bid, here?
Ann: It’s on Lucille.
Lucille: Oh I start with a light weight 50.
Tish: 51.
Ann: 52.
Lucille: Are you chumps trying to run me up? 53.
Tish: 54 – you’re not the only person at this table with cards you know.
Ann: I say 55.
Lucille: 56.
Tish: Well, I lied enough for a while. I’ll pass.
Ann: 56 huh. Is my card going to be in that kitty? If I bid 57 are you going to pass Cille. (Looks at Cille and flutters her eyelids)
Lucille: I believe it’s time to get off the pot, Ms. Jolivette.
Ann: Shit, I can’t count on that damn kitty. Pass. What’s Trump?
Lucille: Spades, please.
Ann: (Turns over the kitty) God Damn it! Look at this shit. My double run is in the fucking kitty. Damn it!
Lucille: Well mine isn’t. (Picks up the kitty and puts it in her hand.)
Restored Poems
From Child of Myself
Assassination
It’s Hunt’s catsup
splattered over the country
like in some movie
and the dead guy
shifted ever so slightly
when a rock fell too close
but it is real -
this dead man
twitches in our minds
and we stop to scratch.
Ice Cream Blues
here
i am again
feelin good
feelin sad
cause
they caught me
& swung
the blues
down on me.
ice cream
ice cream
vanilla and chocolate
child what you need
brown or white
that
good good taste
make it all right
it was a bright pretty morning
when I rolled out of my sack
gonna go sell ice cream
then i’m rolling right back
here
i am again
feelin good
feelin sad
cause
they caught me
& swung
the blues
down on me
ice cream
ice cream
only 15 cents
little child with a dime
well you can have it for that
leavin a little kid out
ought to be some kind of crime
ice cream
ice cream
brown or white
good good taste
make it all right
went down to the job one day
boss man call me side and say
gonna have to cut you loose, my friend
cause you aint bringing in enough dividends.
ice cream
ice cream
brown or white
that good good taste
make it all right.
From Pit Stop
To an Unlabelled
I’m playing a
game.
I don’t know the rules.
& I should know,
that’s why there are P.E. Majors?
But I’m playing
anyhow
The umpire or referee
or match maker said play.
& you
Jumped in the game.
unlabelled
So who are you.
Sister,
do I call you that.
I hope not.
Sisters are fat ladies
in church,
sweating away sins -
without rumpling their clothes
& keeping me in my place.
His wife - but,
you quit that game
back there,
you changed your uniform.
A regular on the squad
Concert pianist -
I don’t know what that means.
I play drums.
but I fake it.
I think that’s wrong - but
like I said I don’t know the rules.
The game keeper is mad.
Friend?
I’ve heard that before.
It doesn’t quite mean
I call you friend -
&
You know what I mean.
Uncollected Poems: 1960s
The Mirror
Gleaming pavements
stared back at me,
And talked to my
Feet as they carried
me to the rundown
Room where the
Fortune woman works.
I gave her the
dollar fee and
sat to know of
Tomorrow’s tale.
Large emerald eyes
Looked at me
And returned
My dollar fee
plus three.
1964p
Of Life
I thought if I were a sparrow,
I’d be free to fly and live;
I found out about the Hawk.
I thought if I were rich,
Thi
ngs would be my way,
Then I learned of taxes.
I said if I were a man. . .
Then I learned.
1964p
I have seen death
Burst into a live body
& strangle out life
Like an irate husband.
I have seen death
Slip into a doubting mind
Persuade - Convince
the life - of death’s peace.
I have seen death
Like a hard slavemaster
Command - & life ceased
From a tired soul.
I do not fear death.
I do not fear death.
I do not fear death.
1966p
To a Friend
for Betty Trope
I entered your fantasy,
Not a stranger, but
Not a friend.
I took a place,
once yours,
& claimed it mine.
You doubted but,
Did not protest,
for I entered
& claimed
as one close to your Sun.
You sat and permitted
my stars,
for love of your Sun,
& my form changed.
I became a Sun.
& you no longer a being,
watching stars,
but a new Sun,
in a new universe.
I beamed,
my rays stronger.
And yours,
lighting your fantasy,
making it real.
Your Sun becoming mine.
Mine yours;
Two universes become lighted,
Twice as well.
1965p
City Song
Heat seeps from city pavement
Into, perspiring pores of Old
Auntie, sitting at her white-grey
window watching movement——
Wonders why she sits,
still.
Junk man father looks
at The team, and his
Family; telling his beer
of That. . . time when
He could of been a big
Star.
Young boy-man stands
on street corners with,
More boy-men talking of . .
Girls and enemy boys,
And week-end drunks,
And school - less days,
and THAT party THAT
Topped older parties,
And the next party
Which should be . . . . .
Better than all.
Project child in piss-reeked
Pants, panting after
Great chase of dirty
Bad men, Hoping . . . . .
That the latest
Uncle will give him
A quarter . . . . .tomorrow.
Child-woman remembers
soft words spoken
by her Man, while
Praying to the Unknown,
That her period comes
this month.
Weary woman walks
thru rat-ridden rooms
With precious remains
of this evening’ supper
Given by her MISSUS;
Wishing it was time
to go…To work again.
City song sounds
from cracked pavements,
And airless alleys,
Unheard by heavy hearts,
Soft sounds - City song.
1965p
Not a Good Night
“Do not go gentle into that good night”
Dylan Thomas
I followed a path
the path - it led
to somewhere. Curved
around space leading
me from my youth.
I met an old man.
“Old man, give back
my youth.”
He gave me a gold pitcher
with a hole in it.
I followed a path.
the path - it led
to marbles & jacks
& dolls, mother,
house, school, love.
I met a little girl.
“Little girl, give back
my youth.”
She ran away
Her mother had told
her not to speak
to strangers.
I followed a path
the path - it led
to a mirror.
I saw a face - not mine.
A face with lines
leading to pain & joy,
song and dances.
I wanted to dance again.
I skipped over guilt;
I laughed at failure.
I had never written a
“bad” poem.
For one moment,
I chased the lines away.
The lines crept back.
Crawling across my face,
the valleys and hills -
valleys of skin - no foliage.
“Mirror, give back
my youth.”
The face in the mirror
turned away.
I followed a path
the path - it led
to a river.
I bathe myself.
River, give back
my youth.”
The river was muddy.
I followed a path
the path - it led
to an unowned grave.
It did not say me,
Somehow I felt it was mine.
1965p
To a Poet, dead
down a bumpy trail
Hey,
watch the boulder on the right,
(held by flour paste)
Skipping over rocks,
over slipper rocks,
(got no rubber soled shoes)
Run,
run down the trail, over the rocks,
to the path
(a straight path)
fly high over that path,
to the temple.
Hit your knees
Oh, Zeus, Lenaeus, fair Muse
& Jehovah too,
I need you,
you to me,
for poems you see,
Cause I wantta be
Poet
1965p
Please you all
give me that “old time religion” or
something like that.
& lo & behold
a hand reaches through
stain glass window
& you reach,
wine, red mountain wine,
wine like poets drink,
so drink,
drink deep,
drink long,
too long,
too deep,
& your mind sleeps,
& you are -
a man drowned,
drowned,
sinking down,
sinking
down,
spinning round &
round
a top.
top can’t stop
Sambo’s tigers melted away.
1965p
Two Faces of Black
I am a mistress to the Sun
I draw energy from its loins
The earth is my chambermaid
Its people are my slaves
Slave, your bones are tired
The sun is too hot
But your kids are hungry
You know you can’t stop
I fly to the Summit of Olympus
Zeus is my houseboy
Pegasus is my packhorse
I am goddess of the Heavens
Fall on your knees woman
Pray to your new found God
Beg Forgiveness for Cain
Beg for a new face
The faces of Eve were three
I have only two
Time has made them strangers
One
is only a dream
1965p
Gold Stars & Hollow Bags
I
Gold stars given
for good work
in younger years -
Become meaning
of good things.
The search begins
to find
the biggest Gold star.
A Golden star
blazing - slashing
like a sharp knife
thru fog and mist.
Blasting out of a
black sky.
I’ll be the Savior
when I get my star.
II
A hollow bag
Empty as death’s eyes
Waits like a new grave
For a soul to become
its content.
Pliant bag
for the almost people
Sucks in life
like a dying man.
Bag people
Trying to get out,
to start their search.
It’s hard to climb a bag.
III.
Star searchers
Run scared.