Dream

I stumbled through the screen door,
My mind went between the real world and a world of my imaginary possibilities.

I had lost another job.

7:30 P.M.

I moped into the kitchen,
My wife was at the stove.

“Hey baby.”
I didn’t respond

I looked at the paper,
Another bombing,
I threw it back down on the table in anger.

I slumped down at the table,
My head laid on my arms.

“What’s wrong?”
My mind failed to comprehend,
It could only wander.

I raised my head slightly as my wife walked over to the record player,
She turned on some Armstrong.

As I sat there, the trumpet played quick jazz beats,
The record player burst out note after note,
The bass harmonizing in the background,

But I barely listened.

Some hot chicken was suddenly laid in front of me
I only glanced at it.

“You don’t look so good.”

Finally I broke from the trance,
“Lost another job,” I said quietly.

“Oh baby, I’m sure you can find another one”

Suddenly, I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling,
The popcorn texture looked like hundreds of little faces,
Staring back at me,
Telling me I couldn’t,
Do it.

“Well I’m gonna go wash up,”
I didn’t even look over as she left.

30 minutes passed by,
Thoughts,
Jumbled,
Nothing was going well these days.

Finally I got up,
I lumbered my way over to the kitchen drawers.

As I opened it, a thick layer of dust huffed up towards me,
I coughed, my hand swiping away the cloud,
It was only a reminder of our poverty.

The plastic wrap was covered in dust as well.
As I pulled it out, I brushed it off,
But dust still remained,

I didn’t notice.

The next drawer over,
The rubber bands,
Only three left,
I took one,
It only shrank the already small pile.

Finally the fridge,
I pulled out the unbranded white tub,
You wouldn’t have even known that it was,

Yogurt.

I walked back towards the bedroom,
I scanned the walls,
They were peeling, and dirty,
Some might call my house,

Trashy.

But those walls were filled with memories,
Of a fight never forgotten,
Of a young boy always looking for a bigger fish,
Of a life rough and rocky.

As I moped in, my wife was sitting on the bed,
I collapsed down next to her.

“You're tired aren’t you?” she said.
“Tired of everything in this world.”
“Tired of how our lives just don’t seem to ever get any better.”

She put her arms around me, and got close to me,
“I’m tired of it too,” she said.

“You’re always here for me,” I said.
“Without me you’d be lost,” she said.

We both chuckled at that,
We both knew it was true.

“You know what I could really use some of right now,” I said.
“What’s that,” she said.

I pulled over the items from the kitchen,
She immediately knew.

We shed our uniforms,
Our old ragged clothes,
The ones we wore everyday as a constant reminder,
A reminder of our,

Place.

I tore out a sheet of the plastic,
The sound was nostalgic for me,
A reminder of times past.

Times as a little boy,
When we all sat around the table,
Laughing, Talking.

And afterward, the plastic had a use,
We could wrap up the,

Extra.

I took a small square,
I wrapped it around my penis,
And put over the rubber band.

It was still rough,

But when you’re so poor, lubricant is hard to find,
So I got out the yogurt, and started to grind.

One might wonder,
Why one would resort to such activities,
Why not work for something,

Better.

Work to find a better job,
A better home,
A better future,
Anything,
Better.

To that, I say,
When you are at your lowest of lows,
When you feel like the whole world is against you,
You take what God has given you,
And you embrace it.

You enjoy it,
You rejoice that God has not taken away your one and only guarantee,
The thing that will keep your generations going,
The thing that will make your grandkids and their kids.

You think about their future,
You think about them,
You want them to be alright,
But you’re just not sure.

When your black,
Nothing is,
Certain.

You don’t know what will happen to your children,
What will happen in this cruel,
White run world.

One were your child could be shot and killed and thrown in a river,
By cruel men, whose existence is stuck in the past,
Who never got over what happened one hundred years ago.

The thing that changed the lives of millions of people forever,
The thing that told a young black man or a young black woman,
That life was more than just labor,
That life was more than just sleep, work, repeat.

It gave them hope for their children,
That they could have a brighter future,
One filled with hope and,

Possibility.

They were given hope,
That they could all have,

A dream.