Homey poem


You’re the man,
People respect your money
You’re the head stag
You get all the women.

What do you do about the hispanic boys
Postering with their tattoos their shirts up over their bellies
Doing the nobody’s badder parade, pick a fight
Here I am my car makes buildings tremble baddass shit?

What about the black boys, strutting, pointing,
Bending their knees, putting their weight into you
Telling you they own this corner rhyming
King of the hill I’m so bad?

And the white boy homeys
Emulating the poor man macho trip
The talk the walk?

Or the cowboy dude or the army dude
Embarrassing you with the girl-as-thing lingo?

They’re saying they get a piece of the action.
What do you do?

Do you meet them on the street with a razor?
Do a drive-by? A drag race? Do you buck horns?
White man money’s got big horns.

I’ll tell you little man what your daddy’ll do.

Homey’s getting no education.
Homey’s getting no job.
Homey’s going to prison.
Let him fight for his dominant life.

If you’re not king of the turd pile there
And there can be only one- you get fucked.
Everyone can act proud but everyone gets fucked.

This is me down your throat my angry poverty-struck friend.
Cute muthafucker.

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Eric Verlo

About Eric Verlo

On sabbatical
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