When You Have To Apologize For Thinking

I wrote this poem for a guy I thought was a good friend for many years. I foolishly joked that he and I seemed so compatible that I thought about dating him a few years prior to him getting engaged. He stopped speaking to me: I still don't know if it was to avert confusion or if the thought caused confusion. Whatever the case, one is truly sorry for this bit of poetic rage.


B Real B

he smells so sweet:
like an education and social conscience,
but he is a meaty puppet
regurgitating the ideas of our bygone heroes
there is nothing PROPHETic about him
it's all been done and said
don't be misled
and when he transfers his head
to his ass
his ass
to where his head
wants to be
all he'll hear is:
"try harder to be YOU son...
like those that came before,
write your own philosophy"
he writes of new tools for schools
and interviews
bigots standing on soap boxes of the oppressed
all rehashed, de ja vu
again for you
it doesn't feed your head
and sometimes he lucks up
and doesn't fuck up
and that's his only charm
there's his nouveau soul girl
forced to prove who she is on the outside
because there's little on the inside
she's materialistic and attention-starved
but hides it under neo-AFReakin' scarves
and that's cool
'cause he's all image too
punk to rock
gained you hip hop
and turned into GRUNGE rock?
now fast-forward (or tread the trend)
and jazzy blues are neo-soulful friends
I remember his first loves
seditive, empty-eyed suburbanites
tres tres fair...
all with hair-
down to there
chic- no mystic
different swatch watches each week-
or day-
however their gifts were displayed
Bennetton, Louis Vuitton, J Crew, Guess...
you know the rest of the best
and the funny thing about these trophies
was familiarity made them real glory
now his trophies
pretend Afrikan
and if he sought true Motherland
in lighter-skin
silky haired, Chanel-ed and Jimmy Choo-ed
in a comfy chair
I would be home to him
but he isn't real enough for me
he hasn't evolved socially
he dissolved expeditiously
into the new god of the talking heads
a poetaster-
an empty head
watch out girl!
when he seems to be vibing
with an enlightened sister
he's just musing on her big posterior
gently he asks,
"What's a little blasphemy?
give up the ass TO ME-
because I'm sooo sensitive
to the Cause...
pull down them draws!"
then he bores with tangible,
still chasing elusive
don't hate him
he's just a man
a humorous man
a hu-man
trying to be everyone's friend
he'll see in the end
it's not what you see
it's how you feel
now be real B
B real!


Sorry...M.~