and no music, it’s a thin, empty sound, a flat despair, Hamlet
so old and dead and tired he can’t even get up a stage whisper.
The cops look at the boys, each cop does, and there’s this
second when the cop wants to explode, he’d unleash a grenade
in his own hand if he had one, he’d take him self with it if it
meant offing them, fuck them black boys’ heads off, there’s
this tangible second, and then they turn away, each one,
young, old, tight, sagging, each one, every day, and they pull
themselves up, and they kick the rocks, the broken glass, the
gravel, and they got a hand folded into a fist, and they leave the
parking lot, they walk big, they walk heavy, they walk like
John Wayne, young John, old John, big John, they walk slow
and heavy and wide, deliberate, like they got six-shooters
riding on each hip; while the boys m ove fast, mad, mean,
speeding, cold fury in hot motion. Y ou want them on each
other; not on you. It ain’t honorable but it’s real. Y o u want
them caught up in the urban hate o f generations, in wild west
battles on city streets, you want them so manly against each
other they don’t have time for girlish trash like you, you want
them fighting each other cock to cock so it all gets used up on
each other. Y o u take the view that wom en are for recreation,
fun, when the battle’s over; and this battle has about another
hundred years to go. Y o u figure they can dig you up out o f the
ground when they’re ready. Y o u figure they probably will.
Y o u figure it don’t matter to them one w ay or the other. Y ou
figure it don’t matter to you either; ju st so it ain’t today, now,
tonight, tom orrow ; ju st so you ain’t conscious; just so you
ain’t alive the next time; just so you are good and dead; just so
you don’t know what it is and w h o ’s doing it. If yo u ’re buying
milk or bread or things you have to go past them, walk down
them streets, go in front o f them, the boys, the cops, and you
practice disappearing; you practice pulling the air over you
like a blanket; you practice being nothing and no one; you
practice not making a sound and barely breathing; you
practice making your eyes go blank and never looking at
anyone but seeing where they are, hearing a shadow move;
you practice being a ghost on cement; and you don’t let
nothing rattle or make noise, not the groceries, not your shoes
hitting the ground, not your arms, you don’t let them m ove or
rub, you don’t make no spontaneous gestures, you don’t even
raise your arm to scratch your nose, you keep your arms still
and you put the milk in the bag so it stays still and you go so far
as to make sure the bag ain’t a stupid bag, one o f them plastic
ones that makes sounds every time something touches it; you
have to get a quiet bag; if it’s a brown paper bag you have to
perfect the skill o f carrying it so nothing moves inside it and so
you don’t have to change arms or hands, acts which can catch
the eye o f someone, acts which can call attention to you, you
don’t shift the bag because your hand gets tired or your arm,
you just let it hurt because it hurts quiet, and if it’s a plastic bag
it’s got to be laminated good so it don’t make any rustling
noise or scratching sound, and you have to walk faster, silent,
fast, because plastic bags stand out more, sometimes they have
bright colors and the flash o f color going by can catch
someone’s attention, the bag’s real money, it costs a dime, it’s
a luxury item, you got change to spare, you’re a classy shopper
so who knows what else you got; and if it’s not colorful it’s
likely to be a shiny white, a bright white, the kind light flashes
o ff o f like it’s a mirror sending signals and there’s only one
signal widely comprehended on cement: get me. The light can
catch someone’s eye so you have to walk like Zen himself,
walk and not walk, you are a master in the urban Olym pics for
girls, an athlete o f girlish survival, it’s a survival game for the
w orld’s best. You get past them and you celebrate, you
celebrate in your heart, you thank the Lord, in your heart you
say a prayer o f gratitude and forgiveness, you forgive Him,
it’s sincere, and you hope He don’t take it as a challenge,
razor-sharp temper He’s got, no do unto others for Him; and if
you hear someone behind you you beg, in half a second you
are on your knees in your heart begging Him to let you off,
you promise a humility this time that will last, it will begin
right now and last a long, long time, you promise no more
liturgical sacrilege, and your prayer stops and your heart stops
and you wait and the most jo you s sound on G o d ’s earth is that
the man’s feet just stomp by. Either he will hurt you or he will
not; either He will hurt you or He will not. Truth’s so simple
and so severe, you don’t be stupid enough to embellish it. I
m yself live inside now. I don’t take m y chances resting only in
the arms o f God. I put m yself inside four walls and then I let
Him rock me, rock me, baby, rock me. I lived outside a lot;
and this last summer I was tired, disoriented. I was too tired,
really, to find a bed, too nervous, maybe too old, maybe I got
old, it happens pretty fast past eighteen like they always
warned; get yourself one boy when yo u ’re eighteen and get
yourself one bed. It got on m y nerves to think about it every
night, I don’t really like to be in a bed per se. I stayed in the lot
behind where the police park their cars, there’s a big, big dirt
lot, there’s a fence behind the police cars and then there’s
empty dirt, trash, some rats, we made fires, there’s broken
glass, there’s liquor to stay warm , I never once saw what it
was, it’s bottles in bags with hands on the bags that tilt in your
direction, new love, anti-genital love, polymorphous perverse, a bottle in a bag. Y o u got to lift your skirt sometimes but it doesn’t matter and I have sores on me, m y legs is so dirty
I just really don’t look. Y ou don’t have to look. There’s many
mirrors to be used but you need not use them. I got too worn
out to find some bed each new night, it got on m y nerves so I
was edgy and anxious in anticipation, a dread that it would be
hard to find or hard to stay or hard to pay, if I just stayed on the
dirt lot I didn’t have to w orry so much, there’s nothing
trapping you in. Life’s a long, quiet rumble, and you ju st shake
as even as you can so you don’t get too worn out. When I lifted
up m y skirt there was blood and dirt in drips, all dried, down
m y legs, and I had sores. I felt quiet inside. I felt okay. I didn’t
w orry too much. I didn’t go see movies or go on dates. I just