What It Is

This weekend was pretty good albeit unmemorable. I gave Glueman a project for his namesake, watched one of the hottest scenes in cinema featuring Teri Hatcher, and flexed my pimp skills (yea right). What was most interesting what another racial observation; this one a lot more positive. I'm going to describe it the form of a poem because that is just the way it felt.

What It Is

What the deal is, bruh?

I feel you

you got that beat bangin' in your dome

the hi-hat and bass drum in unison from one earhole to the other

BOOM-bip-bip-boom. boom-BIP

you point your chin in the direction of the beat

as if teaching a class of audio-sensory deprived students how to feel dat(n'yamean?)

but peep this, bruh

you aint got no music, man.

there aint no boombox

no radio

no I-Pod

just you in the back of a pick-up truck

your clothes a testament to your daily labor

city traffic surrounds you

the waste of automotive emissions fills your nostrils

and all the while you are oblivious

because you have

BOOM-bip-bip-boom. boom-BIP

It's all to the good, baby

what it is is what it is

'cause I got it too

you like me, me like you.