I bet you think this poem's about you (National Poetry Writing Month)
This morning, I was asked if I'd post some sensitive details about someone I know. I had to refuse, and suddenly understood some things people had said about my writing. That, of course, led to this ...
When I was younger, I was fearless.
Talk about a thug rapper's momma
in front of his concert,
Surrounded by all of his boys.
Stand in front of Parker Center
with a picket sign
showin' Daryl Gates
sodomizing Bernie Parks
and dare somebody to say something.
If "AM" and "sunshine" went together
it was time to go to bed after
switching lanes suddenly
90 miles per hour
4AM on 405,
literally acting a fool.
Now there are quiet Saturday mornings
catching up on streamed TV shows
baby strapped to my chest.
Standing in dance performance aisles
to catch slivers of six-year-old smiles.
In bed before 11 on a Friday night.
I don't mind talk about me going soft.
Same stuff stays in my trunk,
still never sit with back to any door.
Closing open door policy on my life.
Details about dramas get delivered nowhere,
hard to grow up under stage lights
relative privacy a gift for the present.
It's not fear.
It's a healthy respect.
It's having people around.
So my blog becomes insular
my poetry less revealing
a sacrifice taken from art
given to tomorrow.
"The Curtain Falls"
by Hannibal Tabu
See ya tomorrow, we're in the home stretch now.
Playing (Music): "Bottle It Up" by Sara Bareilles
NOTE: Since this blog is automatically imported into my Facebook page, I apologize if you comment on it and I don't respond, as I am taking a sabbatical from social networking for 2010. So me not responding is not personal, I just won't see the comments ... until 2011. Maybe. Also including this disclaimer on blogs, but you're welcome to go to the blog itself and speak your mind, as I may look there ...
Labels: blame society, decorum, family, napowrimo, parenting, poetry, privacy, writing
posted by Hannibal Tabu, The Operative at
10:20 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home