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Image for the poem Marsha ... Marsha ... Marsha

Marsha ... Marsha ... Marsha

Marsha ... Marsha ... Marsha    
Wasn't looking to live large      
Just lovely      
You know      
like the Brady Bunch      
All blonde and beautiful      
With a dog named Tiger      
Except I wanted to fuck Marsha      
and Carol too      
Yeah I know      
Not in the script      
But neither was my life      
Prison Sundays      
was the only time I didn't have to go to church      
Except my moms still made me wear that      
punk ass suit      
with the      
punk ass tie    
And those      
punk ass shoes      
Visiting Daddy      
in Attica      
Guards patting me down    
I was ten    
Get used to it      
one of 'em smirked      
Like I was stupid enough to carry my screwdriver there      
Showed Daddy my report card      
All A's      
Not bad for what I was supposed to be      
What was that again?      
Oh yeah    
That's right      
Just another nigga in the ghetto      
Which meant I didn't surf in Hawaii      
with Greg and Peter      
Me and my friends    
we surfed the tops of elevator cars      
21 glorious stories up and down      
Until that day Ricky slipped      
I was there but I wasn't      
When the cops ask    
You never are      
I try to be a kid      
Go to the corner store      
Buy a pack of Now & Laters      
and steal a Charleston Chew      
I'll live Now      
I supposed      
die sooner than Later I guessed    
Cause right in the mix they sell candy shaped like cigarettes      
Packaged in fake real cigarette boxes      
Now that's ghetto candy      
Cause I've never seen sweet Cindy sucking on that shit      
Blue Magic    
China White      
They sell that in the candy store too      
No commercials on TV  for where to buy your dope      
or play your numbers      
but everybody knows where      
Is this my life God?      
to know the unknown      
And father a child before my time      
with the first girl that says      
Si Papi    
because she's too scared and stupid      
to know what she wants   
I watch the pigeons      
circling and hovering above Grant's Projects      
They have wings      
But won't fuckin' leave      
So what chance do I have?      
I watch the Bradys      
They're going to the Grand Canyon      
So I pack my bags and pretend      
Photo credit: (New York Times, June 2014) Grant's Housing Project - Harlem, NY.  The very building I grew up in.  Police raided the building to arrest and evict known gang members.    
Written by LobodeSanPedro
Published | Edited 22nd Apr 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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