Reginald Lockett

The Terminator

this homey in my class.
loud yellow baseball cap
pulled waaaaaaaaay down
over matted, jet black blue
ocean waves and earphones
hooked up to a matching
yellow walkman radio'
hidden in the inside pocket
of a black leather raiders jacket.
feeling good behind large
smoke tinted shades.
high on indica and crack
rolled into a grimmie,
he rides his mountain bike
in a continuous circle
around the block during
both his fifteen minute
and the entire lunch hour.
this week,
he's found himself another
momentary niche.
some immediate gratification thing
that'll last for
about only a week.
maybe a month.
has awarded himself a detailed,
hand printed certificate of
death defying manhood,
complete with personal logo.

Superstition

by the time we'd moved in,
they'd already staked out their territory
in the garden,
behind the garage. an
unspoken truce between us;
i don't throw rocks at them,
and they stay out of the way
when i come trudging
through the backyard for any number
of reasons unknown
even to me.
these cats. this family of black cats.
male, female and two kittens
kicking back where the stringbeans
have grown too tough and fibrous
for consumption,
or soaking up some sun over
where the okra, tomatoes and corn
are just right for a decent succotash.
all these black cats
living off the fat of the property
i'm renting and criss-crossing
my path a zillion time
a day. is it really bad luck
if a black cat crosses your path?
as city born, city spoiled children of good, countrybred
folk,
we turned seven times

in a circle to keep the bad luck monkeys
off our backs. i'd stay higher
than a georgia pine
if i turned
seven times in a circle
every time one of these cool, collective cats
crosses my path.
could this be why an uninsured driver
backed into my parked car
the other day? .
is this why i'm late
getting to work everyday, no matter
how early i leave?
these black cats may figure in the episode
of not one, but two pulled hamstrings
while out jogging last week.
all my friends have stopped calling
and coming by.
think i'll pack my black jogging outfit,
take a flight
to d.c., and dart back and forth
in front of the white house.
after all,
I AM BLACK,
and buildings can't turn
seven times in a circle.

They Want Me to Get a Steady Job

they want me to hold down a steady job,
get good medical and dental coverage,
a fourth life insurance policy, membership
in the company's credit union and accrue sick,
annual and vacation time. if they could have
their way,
my parents would have me become
the perfect example
of straight, clean, secure living.
i'd be on the stewart board or in the choir
of some large united methodist church
and contribute a juicy chunk of my
salary every month. also
be well known in the community. i'd have
an angel of a wife who wouldn't
drink, smoke, cuss,
wear rings in her nose, flaming red
lipstick, braids or cornrows,
and prefer
exotic vegetarian dishes to good, solid,
stick-to-your-ribs kind of food.
she'd be walking, living, eatin~
and breathing virtue. would willingly
and sheepishly follow my lead and
take care of home and family needs.
my folks.

if they were given an inch, they'd take
a whole ten damn miles
and have me and the wife
taking a cruise to hawaii or
down the pacific coast of mexico
on the love boat,
after ten or fifteen years on the job:
the way they see it, you may not be
quite as young, but count your blessings
and be thankful that you're able. this father
and mother of mine, they'd love to see me
kicked back with a nice, expensive ride,
a three-hundred and fifty thousand dollar pad,
another four-hundred grand
in several different banks, income property,
and a big fat juicy retirement checJ.<waiting
in the wings. most
of all,
they want me to be happy.

Copyright © 1999-2007 by Reginald Lockett

Cover Design: Joseph McNair