Election night and the Heights caught fire.
The women shouted in a different language, the men
Offered up cigars and tears.
Hope, they cried, hope is here.
I slipped into an empty chair next to the poker game,
And watched the victory unfold.
A plump, jaundiced man cut and lit the thing in my mouth.
“Puff,” He told me, holding the flame to my face.
I sucked and sucked the smoke and blew it out.
He smiled and slapped me on the back like a father.
Small glasses filled. Men breathed and touched.
Bodies merged with bodies in that room.
A victory, and all of a sudden we knew each other.
Nothing else existed but the music and rejoicing
Of something we didn’t fully understand.
No comments:
Post a Comment