There was a time when I posted the occasional poem on this blog. Boy, did people hate that! I got a lot more comments in those days, so I had the feed-back. Fewer readers; more relatives and friends.
Might be worth trying again.
I’ve done some good in the world, I know,
I sat and had my squareback tidied up
By a friend, with a naked razor blade, he was black,
We were in the Navy, in fact we were in their hospital,
The nice one, in San Diego,
The Navy wasn’t sure about us,
Were we crazy? Just fucked up?
Faking it? Wound too tight?
“Ain’t you afraid, white bread?
Brother playing up ‘round yo’ neck,
Playin’ with a razor?”
“Shit no,” my casual reply,
“You ain’t gonna cut me,”
I smiled over my shoulder,
People don’t cut their friends,
Brother couldn’t argue with that.