morning enters the room
a selfie
behind the hills
unconscious on his porch
empty bottles nearby
the disease of the woman,
saliva dripping from her open mouth
onto the sidewalk in a place once called
White Clay, Nebraska
the self inflicted trauma
Calumet and 45th, Chicago,
heroin in small bags
a line of cars waiting for the children—
not the sharpness of a razor,
a jerk of steel, an edge
of a splinter, the scars of fire,
a cramp named after Mickey
Did you think this was a poem for Thanksgiving
Michael Kidd, the kingpin drug pusher,
is now using his product
| Copyright © 2021 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively. |
I believe that your reputation among this company and their readers is secure and no one will mistake you to be giving thanks for Michael Kidd's succumbing, but everyone will, rather, tend to see irony and take literally the final stanza's first line's seeming denial of thanks-giving for the loss of Kidd's life, in more ways than one.
ReplyDeleteJust for your info--every person here is real and I even used Kidd's real name. He was a sixteen year old student in my seventh grade class who could do mental math without trying. He ran a large group of eleven to thirteen year olds out of a park on Calumet near 45th in Chicago knowing if they got busted, a few hours later due to their age they would be released to the custody of their parents--again and again and again. He came to me and told me how much money he was pulling in a week--a very large number. He asked for advice and how to create a business plan. I told him first off, never use your product. Secondly, keep your money safe. Thirdly... It was a long list. He told me he wanted to open a grocery store and maybe a few years own a club. It's hard for me to be thankful for what I have when so many people do without. When he went on to high school the following year due to his age, I told him to always do good. I saw him a few months later and, yes, he was using his product.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Michael! But I’m pretty sure others are going to read your comment, so it’ll be for them too!
ReplyDeleteUnfortunately--myself included--come into the inner city classroom with middle class values. Here is a link to how generational poverty is so much different from the values I grew up with: http://kathyescobar.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Hidden-Rules-Among-Classes.pdf
ReplyDeleteAs for Michael Kidd, he was raised by a sister in the projects, was in seventh grade at the age of sixteen, did not really see any real future for himself. Coming to me to help create a business plan was a big positive step forward. For everyone's info, I wrote a paper on inner city students and failure in one grade or another. Repeating a grade is one of the most devastating events in a child's life--after the death of a parent. Kidd failed three grades and the loss of both parents who not only abandoned him, but left him to make it on his own with a sister who had enough baggage, she herself needed vast amounts of help--neither received anything at all--just an apartment in one of the most dangerous housing projects in the world and food stamps (no exaggeration).